Star-Crossed
by HeartOfAspen
Summary: Three years post-DH. EWE. Slow-burn Dramione. A prophecy handed down the Malfoy line for generations revolves around Draco, throwing a wrench into the life he's trying to rebuild. Even more perplexing, it somehow also seems to involve one Hermione Granger? Angst and murder, fluff and stuff. COMPLETE!
1. Three Years Later

Author's Note: Hey guys, this is my first fanfic, so please be nice. The story takes into account everything that happened in books 1-7 (Epilogue? What epilogue?) as well as information JKR has added via Pottermore.

.

.

"For the last time, Mudgett, there is _no law_ that prevents a witch from privately practicing experimental botany. Please stop cluttering up my inbox with howlers about the doings on the Lovegood compound…"

"But _sir_ , she's a' it again! Explosions an' odd noises a' any hour o' the day or night… and when I went o'er to ask 'er to keep the noise down while me children were sleepin', _one of 'er bleedin' rosebushes took a bite out o' me arse…!_ Ruined my best trousers, it did!"

"Mudgett, while the damage done to your backside is, I'm _sure_ , regrettable… the fact remains that Miss Lovegood has broken no wizarding law…"

Hermione chuckled into her stack of paperwork. This was the fourth time in a month Archibald Mudgett had been to see her boss at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement regarding odd things happening at Luna Lovegood's house. Hermione supposed _some_ things never really changed, after all…

But many things had changed since the Battle of Hogwarts, three years ago...

Hermione had returned to Hogwarts, joining Ginny's year to finish her schooling, while Harry and Ron had gone straight into the Auror office at the Ministry. Hermione had been offered a job there as well, but she turned it down. She felt she'd merely done her duty as Harry's friend in helping to overthrow Voldemort; being an Auror was not the path for her.

Hogwarts had not been the same by any means. Parts of it had still been in ruins, while other sections were only half-rebuilt. Still, life went on. Ginny's friendship had been indispensible that year, in the absence of Harry and Ron.

Most importantly, going back to Hogwarts had given Hermione time to decide what she wanted to do with her life. She, Ginny, and Hagrid had gone exploring together into the Forbidden Forest once or twice, and the plight of the centaurs there - as well as that of the giants, of which Hagrid spoke to her often - confirmed Hermione's desire to dedicate her life in giving hope to those with less power, without legal voices.

Well, she would try anyway.

Harry had done very well for himself following the overthrow of Voldemort. He was no longer just the Boy Who Lived, but the beloved, young savior of the wizarding world. Twice. He'd quickly gotten engaged to Ginny, who then had a spot on the reserve team for the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team as a Chaser.

Harry and Ginny seemed to be a couple that fortune smiled upon. Ginny became a main player on the team within a year (a teammate left on maternity leave and never came back) and Harry moved swiftly through the ranks at the Auror office, continuing to prosper and make a name for himself.

Ron, on the other hand…

Hermione loved Ron. Really, she'd had a crush on him since their fourth year at Hogwarts, until they finally started dating three and a half years later. But Ron had no ambition. He was content to stay as he was, content with his relationship with Hermione as it was. They argued often, but the make-up sex was pretty good and always seemed to atone.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement wasn't exactly where Hermione had expected to end up, but a year and a half of hard work had paid off and she'd recently been promoted. She now shared a more spacious office with another young woman a few years her senior, Toula. The two of them worked directly for the Head of the department, preparing cases and drafting legal propositions. It wasn't always rewarding, but Hermione felt she was doing _some_ good, if often only in small ways.

Toula was Greek… very Greek. She came from a large family and had moved to England after being fed up with her mother trying to marry her off to every eligible young man that walked through the door. Her dark hair was piled in massive curls on her head, giving the impression that if she moved too quickly, something tumultuous might happen. She was somewhat thickset and very buxom. She had a pair of horn-rimmed glasses she wore when at work, but removed when she thought someone might be looking. Hermione admired her work ethic and the two had become good companions over the last few months. Hermione had never really been friends with another girl before, except Ginny.

Hermione's eyes moved to the wedding invitation that sat on her desk, arrived just that day by owl. In four months, Ginny and Harry were finally getting married!

"…For the last time, Mudgett, _if_ and _when_ you have a legitimate issue for me to explore, you may owl me. Until then, I might suggest picking up a book on Silencing Charms and protective enchantments."

The rejected Mudgett shuffled from the office looking scandalized. Hermione buried herself in her work, pretending not to notice him. She smiled to herself as he entered the lift at the end of the floor, muttering darkly under his breath.

A glance at the clock told her the end of the day was near, so she began putting her desk in order to prepare for an inter-department meeting the following day.

"Granger, are the papers for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in order for tomorrow?"

Hermione looked up to observe her boss standing in the doorway of the office she shared with Toula. Livius Trimble was a decent man to work for: he expected work to be done efficiently and with a certain level of excellence, but he was fair and Hermione knew he liked having her there.

"Right here, sir," she responded, handing him a neat stack of parchment.

" _Excellent_ , thank you, I'll be wanting to look these over before tomorrow." He took the stack, neatly arranged with bullet points and figures and cast it an admiring look at the work. "There will also be about a quarter of an hour for you to present your case on reserve lands for the centaurs to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the Department of Magical Secrecy."

Hermione beamed. It was a subject she'd been putting together a case for, for months – almost as soon as she'd been promoted. "Thank you, sir."

"Papadopoulos, do you have your case for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes in order?"

"The Muggle Liason Office won't know what hit them, sir," Toula responded confidently.

"Excellent, excellent," Trimble murmured. "I'll see both of you ladies tomorrow." He disappeared from the doorway to check on the progress of rest of the staff.

"See you tomorrow, Hermione," Toula said jovially, shouldering her bag to leave. "Don't stay too late."

.

.

Hermione practiced her centaur argument at least seven times in full that evening, pacing the floor in her pajamas and gesticulating to the full-length mirror in her bedroom, just to see how she looked while doing it. She had a flat on her own in Chipping Norton, two floors above her parents' dentist office. Their memories having been restored, Hermione felt protective of them and lived close-by. The feeling that she might never see them again had never really gone away and she visited often. They lived on the other side of town.

The flat was in a nice part of town, was hooked up to the Floo Network for her convenience, and though small, was plenty big enough for her and Crookshanks.

She glanced out the window, where a normally spectacular view of the valley was tonight obscured by fog. Crookshanks, who was finally beginning to show his age, lay curled on a cushion covered in orange hair, irrespective of the vagueness beyond the glass.

Hermione nursed a hot mug of tea, absentmindedly stroking Crookshanks, her mind wandering to and from the meeting tomorrow: her first real chance to prove herself as a Ministry witch. She went to bed early, but remained awake for at least an hour, poring over her thoughts again and again.

.

.

The following morning, Hermione awoke to a familiar owl perched on the back of her kitchen chair.

"Good morning, Pig," she laughed as the tiny owl, noticing she was awake, began hooting excitedly and zooming around her head. "What have you got for me?"

Pigwidgeon stuck out his leg and Hermione took the small scroll, reading:

 _Good Luck Today._  
 _Love, Ron_

In good spirits, Hermione spent more than the usual amount of time on her morning toilette. It was sweet of Ron to wish her luck; he knew how important this meeting was to her. He really had been trying very hard lately…

.

.

"Now don't get too worked up about this meeting," Toula warned the moment Hermione walked into their office. "It's mostly a bunch of rich and influential people who sit on director's boards talking for a long time without letting the people who actually do the work get a word in edgewise."

Hermione laughed nervously.

Toula was correct. The meeting took most of the day, with representatives from different departments coming in and out. It was tedious work; Hermione wished she'd had a larger breakfast.

Finally, after a break for lunch, Trimble hinted to Hermione she was up next, as the representatives from both department boards hearing her argument had arrived. As they rejoined the group in the meeting room, Hermione scanned the panel of representatives, her eyes lingering on an older witch with gray hair and dark skin sitting in the seat for the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

She searched the room for the nameplate for the Department of Magical Secrecy – a chair that had been empty all morning – only to find the last person she wished to see sitting behind the small, bronze nameplate.

It was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione sucked in her breath and felt her stomach drop. She wished she were anywhere else.

Propose something like the reservation of centaur lands to someone like _Draco Malfoy_? She might as well argue with a boulder, for all the good it would probably do!

She glanced at him again. He sat easily, almost saucily, in the department chair, gray eyes surveying the room with an almost bored expression. The pale, pointed face, the slicked-back platinum hair, were the same that Hermione remembered. He did perhaps look a touch older, a little less smug and defiant.

His eyes came to rest on Hermione and for a moment, they locked gazes. Hermione's eyes narrowed, determined not to be the first to look away. The last time she had seen this boy was at the Battle of Hogwarts, fleeing with his parents from the fracas. As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Malfoy attempted his best bored expression and began a conversation with the man to his right, who chortled at something he'd said.

"Granger, you're up," Trimble said suddenly.

The argument began shakily; Hermione was still affected by the sight of Draco Malfoy as the representative for the Department of Magical Secrecy. She spoke almost entirely to the woman from the Magical Creatures department, only looking at Malfoy when necessary.

"…And so I admonish you to look over the proposal you see before you, indicating the lands that would rightly belong to the centaurs. They would have full rights over the laws to be practiced there _and_ the right to determine who is welcome onto their lands. There would be three parcels of land in the U.K. and one in Ireland. These land parcels are small and undeveloped, so with very little effort, we could place anti-Muggle wards and other enchantments on their lands and allow them to live with the freedom they deserve...

"The rest is in your hands."

Hermione smoothed her conservative skirt nervously, glad to be done with her speech, and sat.

"What does the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures say?" asked the moderator.

The older woman cleared her throat and spoke carefully, "Many times we have attempted liaison with the centaurs and as years wended on, they became less and less inclined to parley with us. What makes you think they will agree to your condition that they don't leave the lands appropriated to them?"

"I believe they only want the terms to be apparent," Hermione answered in a clear, strong voice, now feeling more confident from her seat. "They want to understand what we offer and to see it laid out as a law that we will abide by. They have been tricked in the past, and not treated as they should be. This proposal will give them certain freedoms they are currently denied. We should at least negotiate."

The older woman inclined her head and offered to think about the matter, but gave no definitive answer. She didn't look like it was a proposition she deigned to take seriously.

"What does the representative from the Department of Magical Secrecy say?"

Hermione's jaw clenched. She was sure Draco Malfoy would have a _great deal_ to say.

To her great surprise, the voice that answered the moderator – while very clearly belonging to the same person who tormented her for most of her school career – was no longer filled with an abundance of ego and disdain. He merely stated, "Well argued. Approved, pending investigation into the logistics of the matter."

"Note that," the moderator ordered the scribe. "The next argument will be heard from..."

Shocked, Hermione was absolutely still in her seat. Did what she think just happened… really just happen?


	2. Tryst to the Three Broomsticks

Author's Note: Here's a second chapter. I hope someone reads this. I'm enjoying writing it.

.

.

"Hermione! Toula, over here!" Ginny called from across the crowded Three Broomsticks, waving her friends over to a corner table.

Hermione and Toula wound their way through the throng of people in the packed pub and joined Ginny and her friend at their table, thankfully tucked away where they were less likely to be bumped by other patrons.

"I haven't seen it this crowded in a long time," Toula observed, pulling her chair in as far as she could.

"Quidditch season!" Ginny explained. "Everyone's talking about it."

"Thank goodness, or we wouldn't have jobs," laughed Ginny's friend and teammate, Siobhan.

Siobhan was a very pretty Irish girl, short and slight and with long, golden hair and more than a few freckles. She played Keeper for the Holyhead Harpies. She and Ginny had become fast friends. Hermione had met the girl a handful of times and while she could be very opinionated, she generally seemed like a good person.

"Are the boys going to join us?" Hermione queried.

"Harry said he and Ron are working on something that will keep them late, but they'll come when they're done," Ginny answered.

"Perhaps that's just as well, you will never guess what happened today…"

Toula laughed, "I still can't believe it myself!"

"Oh, your presentation – that's right," Ginny remembered. She turned to Siobhan, explaining, "Hermione had a big presentation about lands for centaurs today."

"And how did that go?" Siobhan asked politely, sipping her butterbeer.

"You will never _guess_ who she had to present her argument to... Draco Malfoy!" Toula exclaimed, gladly accepting the butterbeer passed to her by the waitress.

Ginny's brow immediately furrowed. "I see…"

" _The_ Draco Malfoy? The heir?" Siobhan queried, suddenly interested.

"The same," Toula confirmed.

Siobhan set her butterbeer down, "His father was one of the richest wizards in Europe and became a Death Eater for You-Know-Who years ago." She glanced around, as if worried someone might overhear.

"Oh don't be ridiculous, Siobhan," Ginny scoffed, "there's no power in that name anymore."

"All the same," Siobhan retorted resolutely, "it seems like a curse. Anyway, Malfoy Senior was apprehended after You-Know-Who's fall and convicted of horrible things and his son, who inherited everything, had to give up half of everything he owned in order to keep his good name and to get a pardon for himself and his mother."

"The vile snake..." Ginny interjected vehemently. She had never forgiven anyone associated with Voldemort for the death of her brother, Fred.

"Yes," Siobhan agreed, "but the agreement got a lot of public attention since a property that old and large hadn't been divvyed up by the Ministry before. I heard it was not an insubstantial amount they seized…"

"I briefly worked on the Malfoy case," Toula mentioned offhandedly, "before it was given to someone more senior. It was high profile."

"Harry told me the Auror office has enough evidence on Lucius Malfoy to convict ten men to life in Azkaban," said Ginny.

"Yes," Toula agreed, "they practically ransacked their homes and found lots of dark artifacts. Those were confiscated of course, and the Malfoy fortune split up."

"I wonder how much a Malfoy is worth?" Ginny said almost sarcastically, her tone of voice clearly indicating she believed a Malfoy wasn't worth a pile of dung.

"Oh, not much," Toula said slyly, "it was only a cool 31 _million_ galleons, three mansions, and a vast array of assets too numerous to mention... and that was the _half_ they seized."

The four women were silent for a moment, allowing for that figure to sink in.

"No wonder he was always an ass at school," said Hermione, still wrapping her head around the massive proportions of the formerly intact Malfoy fortune.

"Not that he's doing too bad for himself with the _remaining_ 31 million galleons, I guess," Siobhan added.

"So I guess Malfoy-the-still-sickening-wealthy turned down your centaur proposal?" Ginny queried, turning the subject back to Hermione.

"Actually…" said Hermione, "he approved it."

"He what?" demanded a thunderstruck Ginny.

"Yes, he approved it!" Toula exclaimed, "which means that with his influence, Hermione's proposal has a really good chance of becoming law!"

"That's amazing, Hermione," Ginny congratulated warmly and sincerely. Hermione beamed with affection for her friend.

"Thank you, I just can't believe Malfoy went with it. He was always so horrid to me in school."

"Well, you're both older now," Siobhan pointed out, "maybe he's moved on from that."

"You never met him," Hermione muttered darkly.

"It's true, I was homeschooled," agreed Siobhan.

"Hermione _did_ punch him in the face in third year, though," Ginny remembered.

The girls all had a good giggle over this image.

"That _was_ satisfying," Hermione admitted.

"I'm just saying, perhaps he's matured past that," Siobhan offered, "I mean, he's engaged now, and has a real job. Not to mention, he's heir to all that fortune."

"He's engaged?" asked Toula, clearly enjoying the gossip.

"Yes, to Astoria Greengrass – another _ridiculously_ wealthy pureblood," Siobhan supplied, rolling her eyes.

"How do you know all this?"

"Don't you read _Witch Weekly_? They have a whole section on purebloods every week, they're like celebrities. Especially the very rich ones."

"Ugh… the idea of Malfoy being treated as a celebrity makes me want to barf," Ginny answered disgustedly.

"Ginny!" a voice called from across the crowded pub. "Hermione!"

"Harry, over here!" Ginny called back, waving the two boys over.

Hermione and Toula moved closer together to make room for the two figures making their way over to the table. The first to reach them sported a familiar crop of shaggy, black hair and glasses; Harry dutifully hugged Hermione, said hello to Toula and Siobhan, then kissed Ginny on the cheek playfully, settling himself next to her comfortably.

Ron squeezed his way through the throng next, ridiculously tall and highly visible with his flaming red Weasley hair, ungracefully made himself comfortable in-between Hermione and Ginny. "What a day," he sighed, "I could go for a firewhiskey."

Harry laughed, "Oh, come on Ron, it wasn't that bad!"

"Well you weren't the one who got set on fire, were you?" Ron retorted.

Now that he mentioned it, Hermione did detect a faint smell of singed fabric about him. "What happened?" she queried sympathetically.

"Well, you know we've been having a rough time with uprisings from people whose families were affected by Voldemort's supporters," Harry answered as Ron was busy taking a long draught of firewhiskey. "They feel the law is taking too long to settle fault with those accused, so they are taking things into their own hands."

"Don't they understand that things are just backed up? I mean, you're making arrests and convictions, it's just that you're trying not to do it the way it went last time. Everyone gets a trial, not like what happened with Sirius…"

"Exactly," Harry agreed, grimly thinking about his late godfather. "But… well, you can see where they're coming from. People want results and they want them now..."

"We were tracking this bloke from County Down whose fiancée was murdered by Yaxley for being Muggleborn. Well, you know Yaxley's in prison but still not convicted, as we're still sorting through all the evidence against him," said Ron.

"What was he trying to do if Yaxley has already been apprehended?" Hermione wondered, remembering the former Death Eater all too well.

"Trying to kill his daughter, who is seven," answered Harry.

All four women gasped. "No!" Toula exclaimed, horrified.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "And he's not the only one doing things like this. Lots of people are finding family members of the ones who took theirs away and going after them."

"But that's barbaric," Hermione insisted.

"They're just as bad as the ones they're trying to hurt!" Siobhan agreed.

"In _their_ eyes, they're avengers," said Harry as Ron drained his cup.

"Anyway," said Ron, now somewhat more relaxed, "we tried to take this bloke with us but he was pretty skilled with Flame Summoning spells…"

"We nearly lost him when Ron caught fire."

"You're lucky you weren't hurt," Hermione soothed, taking Ron's hand and giving it a squeeze. He smiled at her and squeezed back.

"How did your presentation go today, Hermione?" Harry asked, seeming eager to change the subject.

"Blimey, I almost forgot!" Ron exclaimed. "Yeah, how did it go?"

The girls filled the boys in about the happenings during the presentation and the reaction of Draco Malfoy. Ron seemed shocked, but Harry didn't.

"Lucius Malfoy is on his final trial next week and Draco has been actively trying to distance himself from his father and the proceedings," Harry informed them. "He will need to be a different sort of public figure than Lucius was if he hopes to remain influential. I'm sure he's aware of this."

"But, wasn't Draco also a Death Eater?" Ginny queried, "Why is Lucius on trial and not Draco?"

"Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater?" Siobhan exclaimed, genuinely shocked.

"Every Death Eater and supporter we interviewed abut the Malfoys confirmed that Draco _was_ a Death Eater, but in name only. He never participated in torture or murder or even blackmail. The most he did was watch others doing those things. In fact, most of the minions Voldemort kept in his inner-circle seem to consider him something of a coward, especially compared with his father."

"So? Isn't that almost as bad?"

"Not in the eyes of the law."

"So Draco Malfoy pays a huge fine, giving up half his wealth, and is accepted into decent society again," Ginny concluded, clearly annoyed and disgusted. "I could vomit."

"Don't think he's unaffected, Gin. The same avengers Ron and I are so busy apprehending decided to kill his mother. He's completely alone and, I think, harboring some regret about getting involved with Voldemort."

"Did you say they killed his mother?" Siobhan queried.

"Yes, about a year ago. We have reason to suspect there are those that want to kill Draco, too… though I doubt he's aware of it."

A silence settled on the table of six young people for a moment, finally broken by Toula addressing Ginny and Harry on their wedding, "So you've finally set a date. Where are you getting married?"

.

.

"I'm never drinking again," Hermione groaned, clapping her hand to her forehead. She could feel a pounding headache percolating there.

Morning sunlight was filtering into her bedroom and across her face, bright on the white sheets and pillows. Crookshanks was sprawled at the foot of the bed in a particularly fine sunspot.

"Ron," Hermione shook the prone form next to her, "Ron, wake up."

"Wassamatter?" he mumbled, then groaned. Hermione knew he was probably experiencing the same headache she was suffering at that moment.

Hermione glanced at the clock by the bed and her heart plummeted, "Ron! We've got to be at work in ten minutes!"

She sprang from the bed and began pulling clothes onto her body, reaching for a potion in her medicine cabinet to soothe her aching head.

Ron was slowly putting on a sock as Hermione ejected herself from the bathroom, fully dressed. She rolled her eyes. If _he_ wanted to be late, that wasn't really her business...

"Ugh, why do I feel so bad?"

"Well I believe we polished through a significant amount of mead last night," Hermione answered, feeling the goodness of the potion working its effects. She handed Ron the potion bottle with the remainder, "Drink this, it will help with the headache."

He downed it in one gulp and sat up, exposing his nakedness. Hermione supposed they'd had sex last night, but she couldn't remember much of it. She'd had quite a bit more to drink than she usually did. She seemed to remember the two of them stumbling into the flat, pulling one another's clothes off, glued at the mouth. There was a faint memory of his body against hers…

She blushed and finished buttoning her blouse. Ron was now about halfway dressed.

"I've got to go," she kissed him good-bye, "don't be too late to work. I'll see you later."

.

.

Toula looked just as bad as Hermione felt when she got in.

"At least it's not just me," the other girl grumbled as Hermione shuffled into their office. "I'm never drinking that much on a work night again! You have a memo on your desk."

Hermione glanced at her desk, where a blue slip of paper was neatly folded. Setting her bag down, she opened the memo:

Department of National Secrecy

Board of Directors Representative

Mr. Malfoy requests a meeting to discuss your proposal of lands to be appropriated for centaurs.

Please schedule an appointment at your earliest convenience.


	3. That's What Malfoys Do

Author's Note: This one is a little shorter, but I feel like it needed to end where it did.

.

.

It was to her own great astonishment the following Thursday that Hermione found herself walking through the golden grilles of the lift and down the hallway toward the Department of Secrecy. She decided she really hated herself for going through with it. Malfoy had essentially summoned her and she was actually going. Her pride would have felt more wounded if she'd been able to really wrap her head around what was happening.

Upon her arrival, the department secretary informed Hermione that Malfoy wasn't in at the moment, but that he should be there shortly.

 _Great_ , Hermione thought, _now I am actually waiting for the arrival of Draco Malfoy_. Of one thing she was certain: this was not how she'd imagined her professional life.

After waiting five minutes on a seat outside Malfoy's office, she toyed with the idea of getting up and leaving. How dare he keep her waiting? He was lucky he was even alive, thanks to her, Harry and Ron. She thought back to the Room of Requirement three years ago. Crabbe had set Fiendfyre on them, then lost control of his own spell and forfeited his life as a result. Harry had insisted they save Malfoy and Goyle, instead of leaving them to perish in the flames…

"…the funds to be appropriated for Kachidurian's invention efforts?" a greasy male voice wafted into the general area.

Malfoy's familiar drawl responded, "I'll consider it. I'm not sure I know how to _dabble_ with my funds. I generally like to see a tangible benefit at the other end of my checkbook rather than flimsy maybes whispered to me by the same people who have wasted my family's money for over a decade with speculation."

The unseen man spluttered a bit. Hermione realized they must be close by, as the secretary quickly made herself look busy.

"We'll talk another time, Flest." It was a very clear dismissal of the other man.

"Good morning, sir…" the secretary began.

"A _good_ morning, do you call it?" Malfoy growled.

"Miss Granger from Magical Law Enforcement is here for you, sir."

Malfoy rounded the corner and Hermione met him with narrowed eyes. He wasn't as tall as Ron, but it still struck Hermione that he must have grown. The pale, blond hair was shorter than he'd kept it when at Hogwarts and made him look a good deal less like Lucius. This, Hermione reflected, might be on purpose considering what Harry had told her about Draco distancing himself from his father's reputation. He was well-dressed in a simple suit, perfectly tailored beneath his robes.

Hermione felt a surge of latent anger bubble up from some unknown place at the very sight of him.

"Ah, yes," Malfoy said softly. "Granger…"

 _Keep your temper_ , Hermione reminded herself, as Malfoy strode past her and into his office, where she supposed she was intended to follow. She stepped into the office somewhat timidly, her folder tucked under her arm.

The office was spacious and meticulously tidy. Several bookshelves of rich walnut held a collection of probably over a hundred different books, alphabetized and lined in straight rows. The desk was also walnut, with ornate flourishes on the clawed feet. An inkwell of Venetian glass held an impressive collection of beautiful quills in the corner of the desk, near several stacks of parchment.

Malfoy sat behind the desk in a huge armchair like a throne and propped his feet, clad in shiny leather shoes, up on the desk.

"Well sit down," he said with his classic smirk, gesturing to a chair on the other side of the desk. Hermione sat, noting that this chair was nicer looking, but far less comfortable, than the one at her own desk. Perhaps Malfoy wanted his guests to have a certain level of discomfort. She wouldn't put it past him.

They were completely silent. There was an ornate, brass clock ticking away on the wall. One minute… two… three… silence.

Finally, "Why?"

"Why did I pre-approve your law proposal? Or why are you sitting in my office?" Malfoy queried, cocking an egotistical eyebrow at her.

Hermione fumed, "Why did you agree to my law proposal?"

Malfoy took his feet from the desk and leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Why did you propose the law in the first place?"

"It's something I strongly believe in."

"I see. The Great Granger: champion of the poor, bloodthirsty centaurs who have no legal voices for themselves… how _noble_." Every word he spoke was dripping with sarcasm, a direct affront on Hermione's aims.

"Did you call me here to mock me, or to have a professional discussion?"

"Calm down, Granger. We'll discuss your centaurs…"

Hermione gritted her teeth. Malfoy hadn't changed a bit, he just wore a better public mask now. Her eye caught the only personal thing in the room: a small framed photograph on the far end of the enormous desk. Inside the frame was Draco himself, along with a beautiful, dark-haired young woman. Her hair was in soft curls and she was tastefully dressed. The photo-girl's large, blue eyes looked at photo-Malfoy admiringly and photo-Malfoy smiled back at her. Actually _smiled_ ; Hermione wasn't sure if the real-life Malfoy could do that.

"My soon-to-be bride, since you're curious," said Malfoy, noticing the draw of Hermione's gaze.

"How happy for you," Hermione answered with her best attempt at returning the sarcasm.

"A small bit of light in an ever-growing darkness."

"A growing darkness for _you_ , maybe. For the rest of us, it's a new dawn after a long storm."

Malfoy snorted derisively. "The world is a flawed place, Granger. Being in law, surely you must know that."

"Which is what brings me here." They'd come full circle now.

"Your great crusade toward equality?" Malfoy sneered. "Let me tell you something, Ganger. Hopefully you can wrap your mind around it, intelligent as you are. _Equality is relative and justice is dead_."

"I suppose you're referring to your father's upcoming trial…" She hoped to strike a nerve, as he was clearly bent on hitting several of hers.

"My Father is my Father. He did what he thought was correct."

"Your father..." Hermione stopped to correct herself, "your _family_ is evil." She felt her throat constrict as she recalled the feeling of a silver knife being pressed against her throat by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor, years ago. She remembered Lucius's sneer as he lifted his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark branded into his forearm, pressing his fingers to the disgusting tattoo to summon Lord Voldemort, who would have killed them all without a second thought.

Her forearm itched with memory where Bellatrix had mutilated her flesh...

"There are those that would argue my father is a martyr," Draco argued, not in the least bit abashed, "so you see, evil is also relative."

"I believe justice will see to your family's _particular_ brand of evil, Malfoy."

"And we're back to justice."

Infuriated, Hermione demanded, "Why am I here? Surely there is someone else in your department I can speak to about my proposal?"

Ignoring her outburst, Draco continued, "So you believe that the Dementor's Kiss will be justice for my father?"

Hermione was silent and moved uncomfortably in her seat. If truth be told, she didn't believe the Kiss was justice for anyone, no matter how evil. Yet this was the punishment doled out to all who were convicted of being in Voldemort's inner-circle. To live a soul-less half-life, an empty shell; surely death was preferable.

"I can see what you're thinking," said Draco once she'd been silent for a moment. "You don't believe even the slimiest bit of scum deserve the Kiss. So tell me, Granger… what is it exactly that you would consider justice for someone like my father?"

"Look, I'm not sure where this conversation is going. It's alright to debate theory, but I'm not sure why you're asking my opinion in the first place. I don't have the power to change things like punishments for former Death Eaters. That would be the Wizengamot. Additionally, I _know_ you don't care what my opinion is, so I'm not sure toward what end these questions are trending…"

"It's relevant," Malfoy snapped, clearly irritated. "Tell me, Granger… why should centaurs have justice and not one of your own kind? Why centaurs and not wizards?"

Hermione's rose from her seat. "So _that's_ what this is about! I should have guessed at something petty. Centaurs do not get tangled up in wizarding matters, they desire only to protect their ancient lands, which we make smaller and smaller every few years. They are innocents. Your father, on the other hand…"

"Innocent?" Draco burst out with a laugh. "You think centaurs are innocent? Merlin, Granger, even you know better than that!"

"It's all _relative_ , Malfoy."

"Finally, you're learning."

Fuming, Hermione's brown eyes locked into Draco's cold gray ones. An unspoken battle raged between them for several moments. Hermione tried to find a shred of remorse in those eyes but could observe only granite, cold and finite like the walls of a mausoleum.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"To approve your centaur land law."

" _Why_?"

"Because that's what Malfoys do," he explained. "We sit on director's boards and watch other people scramble around to accomplish things. We give money to causes we wish to support - sometimes discreetly, sometimes openly - and we use our influence to oppose things that do not benefit us. In this case, Granger, it benefits me to support your law, even if I think your morality is flawed."

"My _morality_! What about _your_ morality? If you even understand the word…"

"Oh, I understand about morality. I also know you won't allow yourself to believe you are prejudiced, especially to someone like me."

"Of the two of us, I am certainly not the one ruled by enmity."

"But you admit you're prejudiced?"

Hermione sniffed disdainfully. "I believe everyone has a tendency toward some particular evil, be it prejudice or lack of some other virtue. No one is perfect."

"And my particular evil is…?"

"You're egotistical, spoiled and selfish."

He smirked, as if amused by this description of himself. "And you?"

Hermione paused.

"I'll tell you what you are, Granger." Malfoy stood and came around the desk to stand right in front of her. "You are _blind_ , fettered by the idea of a utopian world you think you have the ability to help create. Your idea of justice is unobtainable. The world is hard and cruel. We grab at huge swaths of happiness and end up with scraps because that's all we can keep from slipping through our fingers. We display emotion because it is like holding a firecracker in our hand, waiting for it to explode. If you close your hand around it, your fingers will get blown off. If you open your hand, you'll be less hurt, but others around you will hurt too. _You_ can't stand the idea of others being hurt, so you cling to the concept that the world can be just and beautiful and that others have the capability of innocence."

Draco was practically snarling by the end of his speech and he looked such like a wolf ready to kill that Hermione remained perfectly still, on the defense. Her wand was ready in her sleeve, just in case.

"Here's your approval, Granger," Malfoy finally uttered, thrusting a piece of paper at her with several signatures from the Department of National Secrecy. "Now get out of my office."


	4. What Once Was Sacred

Author's Note: Alright, finally. Some plot-building stuff! Sorry it has been a few days since the last update. Next week is Spring Break and I think all the professors have been conspiring to make it a hectic one. There is a little lemon juice at the end, for your patience in reading this far. Enjoy!

.

.

"Criminal Case 9800271: Lucius Malfoy versus Ministry of Magic, heard this 28th day of August, 2001. Mr. Malfoy, you have appeared before this court for your sixth and final time. We have heard cases for and against your crimes during the uprising of You-Know-Who," uttered the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He was a youngish-looking man, actually in his fifties, with the harshness and grit of a man who had lived through a hundred years worth of hardship.

Lucius Malfoy sat before the Wizengamot in the center of the courtroom, looking much the worse for wear. The long platinum hair he had formerly kept so immaculate, was a nest. His dark eyes were sunken into his head and he seemed to have aged a good deal in a short time.

"We, the Wizengamot find Lucius Malfoy to be guilty of the crimes appropriated to him," the Chief Warlock intoned to the audience and the scribe. "Seconded?"

"Seconded," said a female Wizengamot member from the back of the rows.

"A third?"

"Agreed," concluded a thin whisp of an old man sitting in the second row.

"Lucius Malfoy, you are sentenced to punishment by means of the Dementor's Kiss. This will take place in one week's time, in order for you to get your legal affairs in order. This court is dismissed."

In the chair to which he was shackled in the center of the courtroom, Lucius Malfoy seemed to crumple in upon himself. He was not surprised at the ruling, but he still felt the cold jaws of fear close around him as he was unshackled and pulled to his feet by a prison guard.

A member of the audience in the stands spat at his feet as he was led away to spend the last week of his cognizant life in Azkaban.

.

.

Draco observed with narrowed eyes the other eighteen people sitting at the table with him. For a long moment, no one said a word.

"Well, we all know why we're here," a middle-aged witch named Cassandra Fawley finally began. Her hair was long and blonde, with streaks of gray. "Today we obliterate the idea of the Sacred Twenty Eight and recreate the list anew."

There was some awkward shuffling at the table, until Maurice Parkinson spoke up, "Many of the pure bloodlines have been wiped out." His face, like that of his daughter who was also present, resembled a pug more than anything.

"Which is why we will renew the list," Cassandra answered gravely. "Now that our very existence is threatened, it is more important than ever for us to recognize those whose blood status is also _toujours pur_."

"Abbotts can remain on the list," Theordore Nott's voice said confidently as he peered at his list. He was the Secretary for the Pureblood Society, a boy Draco's age.

"May as well cross the Averys and Blacks off the list, they're extinct," growled Marcus Flint from his place at the head of the table. He was only a few years older than Draco, and had been his Quidditch Captain when Draco had been on the Slytherin team. The meeting was taking place at his home, Flint Lodge, an ancient compound nestled into the misty moors of the north.

"Bulstrodes… Burkes…" Theo continued, "Carrows have essentially been eliminated as they're all dead or have been Kissed…"

A murmur of unease went around the table.

"Crouches wiped out their own line," grunted Marcus Flint, knowing what the next name on the list would be. Draco knew it, too. The Sacred Twenty Eight were the names of the families that were known as purebloods… names that had been drilled into Draco's memory since a young age, treated like royalty. His father and mother had occasionally quizzed him to make sure he hadn't forgotten any of them.

"Fawleys… Flints…" continued Theo. "Gaunts have been gone for some time, we believe." He crossed the name out on the list. "Greengrasses…. Lestranges."

Deimos Lestrange was the youngest member of the Pureblood Society, a weedy boy of fifteen. His father, Perseus, had been the brother of Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphus. Perseus sat the table with his son, but his wife had died many years ago.

"…Longbottoms…"

Draco snorted in derision, thinking of Neville Longbottom. Certainly, Neville would never be invited to the Pureblood Society, but until he married someone whose blood wasn't pure, he would inevitably have to be included on the list.

"Macmillans… Malfoys… Notts…" Theo went on, then corrected himself, "or rather just _Nott_ , as it's only me…"

It was true, Theo Nott's parents had been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. He wasn't alone, Draco thought, many pureblood families survived through only a handful of members, himself included. He knew he had distant cousins in France with the Malfoy name, but he wouldn't even know where to begin looking for them, nor did he have any desire to do so.

Theo's hand paused over the page, "Ollivander?"

"Garrick Ollivander was only ever a half-blood," spat Perseus Lestrange.

"Hear, hear," Maurice Parkinson agreed.

Theo crossed the name form the list, "…Parkinson..." and stared at the page, crossing out the next three names: Prewett, Rosier, and Rowle.

"Shacklebolt, Shafiq, Slughorn all remain," Flint supplied for Nott.

"Yes," agreed Nott as he crossed Travers off the list. His hand paused over the name Weasley.

"Cross it off," spat Flint.

"Agreed – filthy blood traitors," hissed Tahirah Shafiq.

Nott crossed the name off the list, leaving Yaxley's. He appraised the completed list with a furrowed brow. "Looks like we're the Sacred Fifteen now."

It was a sobering fact and everyone at the table felt it. Even more worrisome was the fact that of the fifteen remaining pureblood families, four weren't even represented among them.

The Shafiq and Lestrange families had organized the Pureblood Society two years prior. It was utterly secret and for that reason, never met in the same place or at the same time. While the members of the secret society had not all necessarily been followers of the Dark Lord as Draco and his family had been, they all agreed it had been a good cause. Additionally, they also all knew the accusations and convictions of their family members were still continuing, so it was necessary to keep their heads down for awhile. The Pureblood Society was a way for them to do this without sacrificing their pride for what they were.

"Our most sacred laws of marriage will have to continue steadfastly if we're to not go completely extinct," Jacen Bulstrode pointed out.

Draco chewed the inside of his lip. He was glad Astoria wasn't present at this meeting. Bulstrode had made the idea of marriage seem so mercenary, which was not how Draco viewed his upcoming nuptuals to Astoria at all.

"Parkinson, what are you going to do about your daughters?" demanded Fabian Fawley bluntly. The Parkinsons had four daughters – Pansy, Dahlia, Amaryllis, and Zinnia – and no sons or male heirs of any kind. Their line was all but doomed.

Maurice Parkinson had only brought one daughter, Pansy, with him that evening. The other three were still in school. His face twisted into a grimace, "Suppose I'll have to marry 'em all off when the time comes." Pansy flushed, glancing sidelong at Theo, who did not notice in the slightest, but was examining his list more thoughtfully.

"Deimos is about the right age for one of your daughters," Perseus Lestrange interrupted. Turning to his son, "Which one…?"

"Amaryllis," responded Deimos with very little hesitation, flushing.

"We will discuss terms and dowry," Parkinson answered, turning the thought over in his head and seeming pleased with the idea. "Not until the girl is at least nineteen."

Lestrange nodded. Nineteen was the typical age for purebloods to marry when it had been an arranged marriage. Draco offhandedly wondered what the absent Amaryllis Parkinson would think of the match to Deimos Lestrange.

"We must protect the sanctity of our names," agreed Arkesh Shafiq, "but our family lines are at stake. I will have to search outside England for a bride. We should extend the hand of friendship to other countries."

"There is also the matter," his sister continued, "of those who are not pureblooded families but support the idea. The Urqhart and Crabbe families for instance, may not have pure blood _per se_ , but in recent generations they have striven to marry only established wizarding families and are better than half-blood at this point…"

Draco lost track of the conversation. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his father's conviction, which had taken place that very morning. He hadn't attended, more to protect his father from a son's public embarrassment than anything else. He supposed, though, he would have to visit him before…

Draco swallowed hard. He and his father had never had a typical relationship. Lucius had sometimes been harsh and always had very high expectations for his son. But Draco was grateful to him and for many years as he was growing up, had tried to emulate his opinions and mannerisms.

Finding it difficult to focus for the rest of the meeting, Draco was glad when it finally adjourned.

.

.

Upon his return to Malfoy Manor, a weighty gloom seemed to make itself comfortable around Draco's shoulders like a heavy cloak. For the first time, it felt odd to be in such a large house and be the only occupant, not counting the house elves (and he didn't). He declined supper and dressed for bed, where he lay awake for hours, tossing around on the soft mattress.

He thought of Astoria, imagining her long, dark hair in soft curls. He remembered the way she smirked at him knowingly in one of the hidden alcoves off the entrance hall of Greengrass Manor... the way she'd caressed his manhood through his trousers the moment they'd been left alone.

Pureblood families – the ones that came with dowries, anyway – always insisted on preserving the bodily virtue of their women, until marriage. That was part of the dowry agreement. For this reason, Draco had never known a woman intimately. Despite opportunities he'd had with Slytherin half-blood girls back at Hogwarts and a Ministry witch he'd had a brief flirtation with two years ago, he'd remained a virgin simply because he never found any of them sufficiently interesting. For much of his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts, he'd been preoccupied with orders from the Dark Lord. Most of his sexual experience came from fleeting moments of teasing he'd shared with Astoria, each only lasting for a few minutes at a time, as they were rarely unchaperoned. He'd also accepted a blowjob from Pansy Parkinson when he was fifteen.

Draco felt a growing hardness between his legs as he thought of the time he'd slid his hand up Astoria's thigh and under her dress during a formal dinner. They'd both remained convincingly straight-faced as he gave her pleasure with his fingers...

Grunting with annoyance, he figured he might get to sleep faster if he caved in to his more primitive urges and reached down, grasping himself in his fist. He thought of the euphoria he'd had when Pansy's mouth had been wrapped around his cock and imagined it was Astoria pleasuring him with her tongue. He felt his member growing harder within his fist and began pumping himself with deliberation, eager to get it over with.

Then, without warning, the image of Hermione Granger standing before him in his office at the Ministry floated into his brain. Her face was contorted into a snarl and her conservative pantsuit and robes were immaculate. Her formerly-so-bushy hair was elegantly pulled back into a knot at the back of her head, a few whisps of bangs falling gently into her brown eyes…

Draco paused in confusion, his hand momentarily frozen. Shaking his head, he thought once again of Astoria running her fingers softly over his hardness while he bit at her neck, wanting her all the more for knowing he couldn't have her at that moment. That he would have to be patient.

He began to feel himself growing harder and his pace increased, pleasure mounting with every passing second. He imagined all the things he would do to her on their wedding night. Sweet release was so close...

But then, _there she was again_! The image of Granger's dark eyes close to his face, burning with fury. She smelled of fall leaves and fresh parchment. Her neck was long and graceful and her fingertips were blotted with ink. There was a trail of beauty marks on her collarbone, just peeking out from under her robes and leading downward, well past her neckline…

Draco gasped as he burst in satisfying milky ropes. He lay there a moment, panting softly. He hadn't done that in awhile.

After cleaning himself up and changing his bedsheets himself (they had suffered from the mess he'd made), he lay there for a few moments on the fresh linens, with the first light of morning began to peek through the window. He felt bodily more relaxed, but his mind was greatly disturbed... almost more so than it had been when his father had been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss less than 24 hours ago.

As he finally drifted off to sleep, his last waking thought was that he was grateful no one else in the world would know of what his mind had conjured that night.


	5. Keats and Mashed Potatoes

Author's Note: Well we're five chapters in and I'm hoping someone is actually reading this fic... if you're out there and want me to continue, please leave a review. I'd love to hear what people think. Like it? Hate it? Needs improvement?

.

.

Hermione lay, eyes closed, on her back in the wheat field. She liked to go there sometimes when her mind was too cluttered, to reflect and to try to relax. Most often, she came there after a disagreement with Ron, which was not altogether infrequent. For this reason, no one knew about her wheat field except Ginny.

It wasn't really _her_ wheat field. Really, she had no idea who it belonged to, though it must belong to someone, as it was tilled and farmed every year. In the nice weather of the late summer, the wheat was especially tall and the cornflowers grew blue and beautiful under the encouragement of the sun.

Hermione was getting her jeans dirty and her hair frazzled (which it definitely didn't need) by lying in that field, but her mind was too preoccupied to care.

She kicked off a shoe. What right did Draco Malfoy have to speak to her the way he had? More importantly, why did she still care, an entire week later? Malfoy had always been a prat. Had she supposed he would change just because he'd been on the losing side? Had she assumed he would be more benevolent after she, Harry and Ron had saved his life?

If she searched her mind she found, on some misguided level, she _had_ expected those things. But, as Malfoy himself would have reminded her, he _had_ changed. Just not in the ways Hermione would have hoped or expected.

Hermione sat up. The sun was high in the sky and she had plenty of other things she should be doing, but wasn't. The humidity was killing her hair – it frizzed out from the sides of her head and stuck, sweaty, to her face. She wiped her forehead with her forearm and peeled pieces of her hair from her neck.

Hermione had never been a romantic person. Always, she'd been governed by practicality, impressed by cleverness, seduced by knowledge. Still, there was a small, secret part of her heart, well-buried, that delighted in the flowery language of poetry or took pleasure in a Jane Austen novel.

"The poetry of earth is never dead:  
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,  
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run  
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;  
That is the Grasshopper's – he takes the lead  
In summer luxury, - he has never done  
With his delights; for when tired out with fun  
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.  
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:  
On a lone winter evening, when the frost  
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills  
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,  
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,  
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills."*

She recited the poem flawlessly; she'd always loved Keats – he was so lyric and romantic. The words of his poems seemed to flow like sweet water over her tongue.

Feeling better, she stood and – with a last look across the length of the wheat field, dotted happily with the nodding heads of cornflowers, Black-Eyed Susans, and hawkweed – she Disapparated back home.

Hermione had a few hours before she'd be expected to show up for the weekly tradition of Sunday dinner at the Burrow. She took a long shower to wash off the sweat and heat of the day.

Standing in the stall of the shower, she watched the water droplets collecting along the crevices between the porcelain tiles that made up the shower wall. She ran her fingers through the pockets of water, destroying their presence with one fell swipe. She felt odd and listless with a feeling like a weight in her abdomen. Licking her lips, she marveled absently at the water droplets: how central to existence they were, yet how easily devoid of shape or form.

She took longer than usual brushing her hair, lost in drowsy empty-mindedness.

After her toilette, she attempted to get some work done and tried to draft a legal proposal on her next great venture toward getting basic legal rights for house elves. For one of the first times in her life, she found it hard to concentrate and set the work aside. She felt dull and sluggish. Poetry did no good, nor did a novel. She picked up the violin her parents had made her learn as a child. The few notes she eked out of the instrument were badly out of tune due to her almost total neglect of the instrument. She distracted herself by tuning the instrument, but fell short of playing much of anything besides a few scales and arpeggios.

She put the instrument away and Crookshanks sat up from his perch in the window, aware his mistress was discontented with something. She was utterly languid.

The telephone rang, which Hermione knew signaled either her parents or telemarketers. She only kept the Muggle device because it was a way for her parents to get ahold of her.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Hermione dear."

"Hi, Mum."

"Your father and I haven't seen you in awhile…"

"Still alive, Mum."

"You sound tad glum, dearest, if you don't mind me saying. How did your presentation go?"

Hermione spent the next quarter of an hour pouring her heart out to her mother. She told her about the presentation, about how her law proposal meant that envoys were being sent to the centaurs to cement the terms before it became actual law.

She also spent a shocking amount of time explaining how much she disliked Draco Malfoy.

Hermione could almost hear her mother's frown as she asked, "Isn't he the boy from your school who always gave you such a hard time?"

"Yes, Mum."

Her mother tutted. "Oh my dear, there are always going to be people like _that_. Don't let him get to you. He's probably miserable and always will be, since he's so negative all the time. You can't let a person like that dull your shine."

"I know you're right," Hermione sighed into the receiver. She now lay upside-down on her bed with her head hanging off the edge while Crookshanks made himself warm and comfortable nestled into her side. "I just can't stop thinking about him. I almost feel sorry for him."

"Yes, well, people like that _do_ deserve a certain measure of pity," agreed Mrs. Granger wisely. "When people say or do awful things to hurt others it's usually because they're wounded themselves. You're so smart, honey, perhaps he's jealous."

Hermione laughed genuinely at the idea. Jealous! Draco Malfoy! If there was one thing of which she was absolutely certain, it was that Draco Malfoy was most certainly _not_ jealous of her.

"Thanks, Mum. You always know how to make me feel better."

"I'm glad, sweetie. Your father and I miss you. Don't be a stranger."

"I won't. I love you."

"Love you too, dearest. Don't work too hard. Give my love to Ron."

Hermione felt a lump in her throat. "I will."

.

.

The Burrow was packed, as usual. Hermione had Floo'd there right into a hubbub of Weasley women having a disagreement over Ginny's arrangements for her wedding.

"I don't see _why_ you want to have the wedding at Grimmauld Place, love," Mrs. Weasley was telling her daughter, one hand on her hip with a wooden spoon sticking out of her fist. Something delicious-smelling was beginning to boil on the stove behind her. "You'll have to clean up afterward and that's hardly what you'll want to be doing on your wedding night..."

"Eet ees too small," agreed Fleur, Bill's wife. "Eet ees barely big enough for 'Agrid, let alone everyone else 'oo you will want to invite."

"We would magically expand the place to accommodate Hagrid," Ginny protested, " _and_ everyone else."

"Ah," Fleur disagreed, one finger wagging at her sister-in-law, while the other rested on her enormous belly, stretched wide with eight months of pregnancy, "but zen it will be too 'ot inside!"

"Your backyard isn't large enough," Mrs. Weasley agreed, stirring the pot behind her. "Have the wedding here, your father and I don't mind. Bill and Fleur had theirs here, and… oh, Hermione!"

Mrs. Weasley had noticed her youngest son's girlfriend at that moment. Hermione grinned as she was enveloped by a motherly embrace. Fleur seemed pleased to see Hermione as well and greeted her warmly.

"Hey," Ginny greeted, taking Hermione by the crook of her elbow and steering her away from her mother and sister-in-law.

"Don't think this is the end of the conversation!" Mrs. Weasley called as the girls walked away.

Ginny rolled her eyes and whispered to her friend, "Merlin, I thought I would never get away from them."

Hermione laughed, "They don't like your wedding plans?"

"Harry and I wanted to keep things on the smaller side. He's so famous, everyone wants to come! But we agreed we only want people we really care about to be there when…"

"I understand."

"Mum wants to make it a big thing."

"She's proud to have Harry as a son-in-law."

"Yes, and she's showing off," Ginny retorted. "But Harry hasn't really ever liked the spotlight."

"That's true," Hermione agreed. "He always had it thrust on him."

"You'll be a bridesmaid, of course?"

"Thank you, I'd love that."

"I asked Fleur to be one as well since I was one of hers."

"Ah, eet would only be right," Hermione agreed, doing a passable imitation of Fleur's French accent.

Both girls giggled. Ginny finished, "But she's so pregnant she declined, thank Merlin. Instead it's just you and Siobhan."

"Let me know how I can help."

"Oh, trust me," Ginny said resignedly, "there's a _lot_ to do."

The girls were joined by Ron and George at that moment. "Hey, Hermione," Ron greeted, giving her a peck on the cheek. "Harry's running late," he informed Ginny.

"He works too hard," she said, shaking her head.

George clapped her on the shoulder. "Crime never sleeps, little sister."

"But it's Sunday…"

"Is Angelina coming, George?" Hermione asked, referring to Angelina Johnson, a fellow Gryffindor that had been in George's year. The two had recently started dating about two months prior.

"Not tonight," he grinned. "I'm not sure she's ready for a full-blown Weasley dinner yet."

"How bad can it be? She puts up with you," Ginny protested, earning her a friendly shove from her brother.

Dinner was a boisterous affair, made more so by the presence of three-year-old Teddy Lupin (Harry and Ginny always babysat his godson on Sunday nights to give Teddy's grandmother, Andromeda, a night off). Two-year-old Molly Weasley, Percy's daughter, was enjoying playing with Teddy and with her cousin, Victoire, who was just about her own age.

Hermione felt a headache coming on and did not feel inclined to make much conversation. It was lucky she was sitting next to Percy, as she didn't need to say very much, since he was always speaking about work; Percy had recently been promoted to the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Even his wife, Audrey, had moved on to other conversation with Fleur, about the upcoming birth of Fleur's second child.

Harry showed up just as dinner was being set out on the table, looking somewhat worse for wear, but pleased to see everyone, especially his godson. He scooped Teddy up into his arms and mussed his hair, eliciting a delighted scream from the blue-haired toddler. Harry sat between Ginny and Ron, Teddy on his lap.

"Long day?" Hermione queried from across the table, once everyone had greeted Harry, then moved back into other conversations.

"Riots," Harry explained, as Teddy grabbed a handful of mashed potatoes from his godfather's plate and began crushing them onto the tablecloth.

"What are they rioting?"

"The convictions… or rather, the lack thereof."

"But you're making progress!" Hermione protested.

Teddy's hair changed from blue to green as Ginny wiped his chubby, mashed-potato-covered arm off with a napkin. He touched her face with his messy hand and giggled before attempting to put a pea into her nose with his other hand. Ginny tickled him in response and he shrieked with delight.

"It's true, we have been. Lucius Malfoy's just been sentenced to the Kiss on Friday, but there are still people that are furious it took so long, since we had so much evidence against him. Then there are still loads of supporters still on the loose…"

 _So he will get the Kiss then_ , Hermione thought suddenly, thinking of Draco's sneer as he'd intoned 'Equality is relative and justice is dead.' She wondered how Malfoy was handling his father's sentencing...

"…and some are furious we've sentenced Malfoy and not his son," Harry finished with a sigh. "I just hope we're not going to be investigating a murder soon."

"Would they really go so far?" Hermione queried as she watched Teddy throw peas at George from across the table and George flicked them back.

"I have little doubt," Harry responded, leaning an elbow right into the potatoes Teddy had smashed onto the tablecloth. "But there's only so many times I can save Malfoy. Anyway, someone else is working on his particular case."

Harry noticed his arm was covered in potatoes at that moment and was distracted in trying to clean himself up. Meanwhile, Hermione bit her lip, unsure why it bothered her so much that there were people out in the world, plotting to murder Draco Malfoy.

.

.

* "On the Grasshopper and Cricket" by John Keats


	6. Memory Alone Binds Us

Author's Note: Two chapters in one day? I'm just enjoying writing, but mostly impatient to get to the really good stuff. Thanks iwasbotwp for my first (and only) review on this story. Appreciated!

.

.

The cold metal of the room seemed to sink into Draco's very bones as the heavy door slid open before him.

"Ten minutes," the guard informed him, gesturing Draco into the dimly lit cell.

Draco stepped in and the guard slid the door shut again behind him and bolted it, leaving him alone with his father for the first time in almost three years.

The two men were silent as their gazes met across the cell. A small lamp offered some measure of light, but threw shadows onto Lucius's face that made him appear older and haggard.

Finally, Lucius reached an arm out to his son from the metal seat at the small desk that stood in the corner of the sparse room. His voice was thin and clipped as it murmured, "Come here, Draco."

Draco crossed the cell in three strides and sat on the edge of the little desk by his father, while Lucius remained sitting in the unforgiving metal seat. He seemed weakened, as if a strong gust of wind could topple him to the ground. Draco wondered if his father had been eating; a plate of food nearby did not look utterly awful, but remained clearly untouched.

Noticing the subject of his son's gaze, Lucius informed him, "It all tastes like ash."

Draco nodded, "Is there anything I can bring you?"

Lucius chuckled darkly. "It isn't the food. Even my thoughts taste like ash."

Draco swallowed. He'd never heard his father talk this way. "I see."

Lucius seemed to be choosing his words carefully as he shut his eyes briefly in reflection. "There are things I must tell you, Draco. Things you should know while I am still able to recognize you as my own flesh and blood."

Draco did not try to interrupt. Somehow, he recognized this would be the most important conversation he ever had with his father.

"First," Lucius began, "don't delay your wedding." Whatever Draco had been expecting, it wasn't that. "It's true you don't know Astoria very well, but she shows great potential in making you a good partner. She cares for you and you care for her. I'm confident you'll at least grow to be good friends. Traditionally, Malfoys have never married for love, as you know, but I feel…"

Lucius paused and closed his eyes. Draco noticed there seemed to be new streaks of silver in his father's platinum hair.

"…I feel… so dead inside since your mother's death."

Draco swallowed, feeling a lump rise in his throat. "I know."

Lucius observed his son and Draco felt uncomfortable, as if he was being microscopically scrutinized. "Your mother and I tried to raise you to be everything we felt a Malfoy should be. We tried to emulate everything we wanted for you… we tried to help to mold a world that would have benefitted you – my son – in all the best ways."

Draco didn't trust himself to speak. He'd never really seen his father emotional before, at least not like this – anger, aggression, even fear, he had seen. Never this.

"The timing was wrong," Lucius continued, shaking his head slowly, "although it didn't feel wrong at the time. It felt like I was seizing the opportunity as it arose to help establish a new kind of world, where future generations would be pure and uncorrupted…"

"You didn't know, Father," Draco managed to choke out.

Lucius chuckled softly, "I have had plenty of time to reflect on what else I may have been wrong about."

A silence settled upon the room, punctuated only by faint noises that could be heard from other cells in the prison. Someone was moaning in a slow agony far away, while another prisoner was screaming in the throes of some dark emotion. These things sounded distant and far away despite their close proximity, but neither of the men paid them any heed. There were demons being exorcised in this room, too.

"Your mother knew," Lucius voiced. "She knew the Dark Lord was wrong the moment he began to corrupt you. She could sense your life was in danger. She tried to tell me, but we were both already in too deep…"

"So was I," interrupted Draco, his cheeks hot.

"Question _everything_ , Draco. Always question everything."

"I will try, Father."

"There's something else I have to tell you, as well," Lucius continued, this time in more of a whisper. "At the Manor… there is something you must find, but it must be kept utterly secret."

Draco had to lean in closer just to make out what his father was saying. His interest was piqued.

"The Malfoys have – for fourteen generations – been the keepers of a prophecy regarding one of our own. In order to keep the secret as hidden as possible, only two Malfoys are the secret-keepers at once. It used to be myself and your mother. Right now, it is you and I. In less than a week, my mind will be destroyed, and it will be only you. Marry Astoria and share the secret with her."

"What does this prophecy speak of?"

Lucius shook his head, "I cannot relate it to you, you must see for yourself - that has always been the way. Go to the Manor library and find the book that details the Malfoy geneology. There is a passage behind the bookshelf. You must go and see for yourself."

It was clear Lucius was going to share no more information on the matter so Draco did not press him. He was sure his time was almost up, in any case.

"I will go," Draco promised.

A knock on the sliding door signaled the return of the guard, who barked, "It's been ten. Time to wrap it up."

Draco could not remember a time his father had ever shown him very much affection, especially not physical affection. Therefore, it was with a certain degree of awkwardness that the two men embraced. Hurriedly pushing Draco back, Lucius held him at an arm's length and observed his son. "I am… proud… you're my son, Draco."

The door slid open and Draco was momentarily blinded by the addition of light from the hall. The guard stood framed in the doorway expectantly.

"Don't come back, son."

.

.

Draco hiked to the top of the grassy hill, fresh and verdant from a summer rain that still lingered, refusing to end. He was wearing some of his best shoes, custom-made for his feet from an expensive Italian leather and they were getting wet through. He didn't care.

In the distance, he heard the faint rumblings of thunder, followed by a distant glimmer of lightning. He didn't care.

His clothes were beginning to become wet completely through and would probably be ruined. He didn't care.

Suddenly he was face-to-face with the gazebo at the top of the hill, framed on each side by a gnarled cypress tree. Beyond, the cemetery stretched back toward the edge of the forest.

He'd come there for only one reason and there it was. He stopped in front of the grave and stared at the cold and wet script staring unknowingly back:

Narcissa Black Malfoy

1955 – 1999

Memory Alone Binds Us

The constricting feeling Draco had felt in his throat throughout his entire visit with Lucius overwhelmed him at that moment. He sunk to his knees, which were immediately soaked from the sodden grass, and cried.

 _Question everything, Draco_ …

"Why didn't _you_?" Draco demanded aloud to the voice slithering through his brain, the voice that belonged to a haunted, hungry shell of his father. His forehead and hand rested on the cold headstone as he wept. The thunder rolled in closer and the rain began to beat down harder.

… _Always question everything._

Draco wasn't in the mood to question everything. He was in the mood to _hate_ everything. His hand clenched on his mother's headstone and he stared at the frank, impersonal words inscribed there: Memory Alone Binds Us.

He could feel rage beginning to eat at his insides like a creature attempting to gnaw its way out of imprisonment from behind his ribcage. He was ready to explode with anger, meanwhile tears rolled down his face, leaving thin rivulets of burning shame on his cheeks.

A small voice spoke up in the back of his skull, 'There is something inside of you, my son, that is thousands and thousands of years old. Protect that and do not ever let it be destroyed.'

He remembered Narcissa telling him that when he was sixteen years old, a recently christened Death Eater. He had been so proud of himself when he'd received the Dark Mark, but when he told his mother, her mouth had become a thin line and some of the color drained from her face. He couldn't place the emotion he'd seen there at the time, but he knew now it had been fear.

 _Protect that and do not ever let it be destroyed_ …

Memory Alone Binds Us.

It took a few minutes for Draco to pull himself together, but he managed. Most of his clothes were ruined, but that didn't matter, he could buy new ones. Finally, it seemed the storm was passing and a gentle summer drizzle was all that remained.

He stood erect once more, and stared down at the headstone with puffy eyes. He used his wand to conjure some white lilies to grow there, thinking his mother would have liked that. Then he stalked back down the hill, his feet making squishing noises in his ruined shoes.

.

.

Hermione sat nestled in a blanket on the wide sill of her apartment window which faced the road. She watched the rain beating down on the tops of cars and on the bricks of the street. Her cat, a book, and a cup of tea kept her warm.

A rolling peal of thunder followed by a flash of lightning sent Crookshanks from her lap, where he'd been leaving a ginger quilt of hair behind on the blanket she was wrapped in. An odd feeling like a stab in her heart went through Hermione so quickly she almost thought she'd imagined it. She'd never much liked storms, especially when she was a child. Disquieted for the moment, she turned back to her book and never reflected on the moment again.


	7. Terrazza Mosaico

Author's Note: There's nothing like staying in on a Saturday night, making twelve quarts of vegetable stock from scratch and writing a chapter of Dramione fanfiction... isn't that what _everyone_ does on their Saturday? As always, reviews are appreciated and can definitely influence the story (especially when it comes to how fast I update). Thanks again iwasbotwp for your review :)

.

.

"See you in a bit," Toula called back to Hermione as she exited the Ministry lift for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione nodded to her friend as the golden grilles slid shut once again and moved upward a single floor.

"Department of Magical Secrecy," said the cool female voice of the disembodied lift operator.

Hermione took a deep breath and forced her feet to move forward. She and a wizened old man with an impressive amount of nose hair stepped off the lift and onto the landing.

 _Hermione Jean Granger, you are a fool_ , she mentally scolded herself.

It had been less than two weeks since Lucius Malfoy had been reduced a soulless shell of a wizard by the Dementor's Kiss. Despite her best efforts, Hermione could not get this simple fact out of her head – and she knew it wasn't for Lucius's sake that she felt uneasy about the whole affair.

It was Draco.

She was… _concerned_ about Draco Malfoy. Even she couldn't discern precisely why, as it wasn't as if he'd ever wanted her concern. Her conscious thoughts kept returning to the moment - years ago, but still fresh in her mind - she had erased all memory of herself from the minds of her own parents, rendering herself essentially orphaned. She'd had Harry and the Weasleys then, for comfort. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been especially kind to her. She wondered if Malfoy had anyone like that in his life to support him now that he too, was alone. Perhaps his fiancée had been helping him through things? Hermione remembered he had referred to her as a "small bit of light in an ever-growing darkness" only weeks ago.

Hermione's heart was beating quickly and erratically in her chest and she almost turned back. Her feet seemed to move on autopilot and much too suddenly (hadn't she just stepped off the lift?) she was standing in front of the secretary's desk.

When Hermione was told that Malfoy was actually _in_ his office, she panicked. He wasn't actually supposed to _be there_ when she showed up. She'd had it all planned out: she would go, just to see if he'd returned to work or taken an extended leave of absence. Either way, she had expected to be informed that Malfoy _wasn't in_ and Hermione could leave a generic message of sympathy with the secretary, feeling that she had fulfilled the odd sense of duty she felt in going there in the first place.

But that hadn't happened at all. In fact, beyond the frosted glass of the window on the front of Malfoy's office, she could see the outline of a man slowly pacing.

Suddenly she was standing in the doorway of the office. How had she gotten there? Had she even spoken to the secretary? She couldn't seem to remember.

 _Get it together_ , she chided herself.

"Granger?"

Hermione raised her eyes and observed the oddly surreal sight of Draco Malfoy, immaculately dressed as usual, acting as if his only remaining family member hadn't had his soul sucked from his mouth less than a fortnight ago.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow when she didn't say anything and for a moment, she considered making a lame excuse and leaving.

"Well," he sighed, sinking into his oversized armchair behind the equally oversized desk, "sit down."

She sat. She didn't even remember crossing the room toward the chair.

"Might I ask what brings you here? Surely the progress of your centaur land law is moving as quickly as it possibly…"

Hermione shook her head, "I came to offer my sympathy."

Malfoy's eyebrows raised and he fell silent, suddenly not wanting to meet her eyes.

Hermione swallowed her nervousness. "I heard… about your father. I'm sorry."

"Why?" he demanded, eyes narrowing.

Hermione blinked and repeated, "Why?"

"Why are you here? Why are you sorry?"

Hermione was confused. She'd expected him to laugh at her, or mock her. That would actually have been easier to deal with. "Well," she stammered, "he was your father… and I know how it feels for your father to not recognize you anymore… it hurts…"

So, Granger felt _sorry_ for him… that was why. Draco wasn't sure he enjoyed knowing he was the subject of Granger's empathy. "How could you _possibly_ know how this feels, Granger?" His gray eyes squeezed shut as he tried not to think about Lucius. His father had asked him not to go back and he hadn't. He knew he never would.

"I do," she whispered. He was silent and she squirmed in the uncomfortable chair. "I Obliviated both my parents before the start of the War, to protect them. I took away all memory they had of me, gave them false identities, and sent them away to Australia."

Malfoy opened his eyes stared at Hermione until she felt uncomfortable and fidgeted. He didn't feel sorry for her, but he was impressed. Perhaps Granger had more mettle than he'd given her credit for.

"Mr. Malfoy," the secretary interrupted, poking her head into the door, "the Swedish ambassador has arrived."

"I'll be right there," Malfoy answered curtly and the secretary nodded and disappeared again.

Hermione stood, recognizing a dismissal when she heard one. Her cheeks flushed and she was grateful for the chance to escape.

"Granger," Malfoy said abruptly.

She turned slowly, one hand already on the doorframe in her eagerness to escape the office. "Yes?"

"It would be… interesting to continue this discussion, preferably over lunch."

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

In the same drawl she had come to expect from him over the years, he maintained, "I'll have my secretary send along some directions, should you also feel inclined."

.

.

"Are you going to go?" whispered Toula, her dark eyes wide as she stared at the small piece of paper in Hermione's hand. It had arrived an hour ago to Hermione's desk as an ordinary inter-departmental memo.

"I don't know," Hermione answered slowly. She had very mixed feelings about Malfoy and not much of it was in his favor. On one hand, she felt sorry for him regarding the loss of his father and grateful he'd approved her law, even if it was for the wrong reasons. On the other hand he was _Malfoy_ , a former disciple of Voldemort and she didn't trust him one iota. She also was of the opinion that his worldview must still be very flawed. She recalled the almost feral snarl of his face the first time she'd been in his office and they'd argued.

The note indicated that luncheon was at one and should Miss Granger be inclined to attend, her office fireplace would be arranged to transport her to Terrazza Mosaico the following afternoon.

From their boss's office, Hermione and Toula heard Trimble exclaim, "For Merlin's sake, Mudgett!"

"Sir, please listen," Archibald Mudgett petitioned desperately. He hadn't been around to complain to Trimble for a few weeks and Hermione knew her boss had hoped he wouldn't ever return. "Tha' Lovegood woman, she's started breedin' plants with eyeballs tha' can see through a man's trousers! It a'int natural…"

Hermione and Toula exchanged looks and giggled quietly.

Mudgett continued, "An' me daughter, she went near – and these _eyeball plants_ were makin' lewd comments abou' her. Merlin knows wha' else…"

"I think this is our cue to leave," Toula whispered to her friend, nodding at the large clock on the wall that indicated the workday was over.

The two women gathered their things hastily and left their desks as quietly as possible, leaving the sounds of their exasperated boss arguing with the inexorable Mudgett behind.

.

.

"Terrazza Mosaico."

Hermione released a handful of glittering Floo Powder into the large hearth-style fireplace and Hermione stepped in, enveloped by pouncing green flames. She'd never much liked travelling by Floo, as it made her queasy and always left ash on her clothes afterward. The office disappeared and Hermione was spinning quickly, glad she hadn't eaten anything in several hours.

She seemed to be spinning for an eternity. Had something gone wrong? Shouldn't she have arrived by now?

Panic began to set in. Perhaps Malfoy had rigged the Floo Network somehow and this was some form of awful torture? She struggled not to hyperventilate and to keep her arms at her sides as she spun, and spun, and spun…

Finally with a soft _oof_ she felt her feet hit solid ground.

" _Buon pomeriggio_."

Hermione raised her head, fighting the urge to vomit. A kindly looking older man with olive skin and dark hair stood before her. He reached out to put his hand under her elbow, steadying her.

"Thank you," she breathed, straightening herself up but still feeling like she'd just gone through a tornado.

"But of course, miss," the man said kindly, in a barely noticeable Italian accent. He offered her refreshment in the form of a glass of wine and an elegant hand-towel with which she could brush the ash and travel off herself and her clothing. The wine was blood red and gracefully presented in a fluted glass of cut crystal.

Hermione took a sip of the wine and savored the soft tannic flavor. She felt her head clear somewhat and took another sip, this time noting something flowery about the taste that appealed to her.

"Thank you," she said again, really meaning it.

"My pleasure, miss."

"May I confirm that I haven't got off at the wrong grate? I am actually arrived at Terrazza Mosaico?"

"You are, miss. I have been sent to fetch you and convey you to your luncheon with the master once you've recovered from the unpleasantness of international Floo travel."

 _International Floo travel… of course_ , Hermione thought to herself. That was why it took so long for her to arrive, and why arrangements had needed to be made for her to go there. She sniffed and felt it would have been nice of Malfoy to mention she would be travelling internationally on her lunch break _before_ she'd agreed to come.

Straightening her conservative skirt and blouse, she glanced at her reflection in a mirror hanging from the wall and deemed herself presentable. There wasn't really any reason to get particular about her appearance only for Malfoy, but something about her surroundings made her self-conscious of her third-best work outfit, likely still spotted with specks of ash. The cream-colored blouse likely hid any remaining soot quite well, but her black, knee-length skirt was unforgiving in that department.

Hermione looked around. She seemed to be in a small antechamber, the main feature of which was the fireplace. The walls were covered in ostentatious patterns of peacocks and olive trees. The only pieces of furniture were a small wooden table, intricately carved, and a grandiose gilded mirror inlayed with mother-of-pearl. The fireplace's sole purpose seemed to be for the receiving of guests, as it was impractically lined with porcelain tiles and there was no grate for logs of any kind.

"Why do they call this place Terrazza Mosaico?" Hermione inquired.

"Ah," the man murmured, almost proudly, "you will see in a moment, miss. Shall I take you to the master?"

"Thank you," she acquiesced, her curiosity much piqued.

The man led her from the antechamber and down a short hall. Hermione noticed a sort of humidity in the air which was not unpleasant. Possibly for this reason, her companion was dressed in gray robes made of a light fabric. She wondered who he was, perhaps a servant of some sort? He'd mentioned that he had been sent to fetch her and he'd been ready with refreshment when she had arrived.

When the man reached the end of the hall, he swung open a pair of tall French doors with billowing white curtains and Hermione released a soft, involuntary gasp.

The doors opened into a courtyard the likes of which Hermione had never seen before. Three marble steps spilled into a piazza with glistening mosaic tiles, some smaller than a knut and some as large as grapefruits. A pattern depicting a river flowing through a forest at night glistened in the sunlight of high noon. Mosaic-stars almost seemed to twinkle in the mosaic-sky, while above – were those fairies, made of mosaic tiles so small their features could be seen so clearly? It was a scene of an enchanted forest like no other. Every leaf of every tree was a separate tile, expertly crafted so that the scene almost seemed alive. Long, curving tiles made up the river, which twisted and turned through the courtyard and out of sight.

"This way, miss." The man led her down the steps and began to walk across the forest scene.

She was supposed to _walk_ on this piece of art? Hermione supposed she was but it somehow didn't seem right. She took her first step gingerly and reminded herself not to be silly. She followed the man, her eyes taking in tiny details of the enormous mosaic. The scene changed as they walked along, and it seemed to go on forever. The mosaic-river flowed into a mosaic-sea, above which a mosaic-dragon glided amongst the mosaic-clouds. Each of the dragon's scales was made of tiny tiles no larger than the nail on Hermione's pinky finger.

The house – _villa_ , really – closed in on all sides of the courtyard, until they came to a gap. Hermione then had to catch her breath a second time. The villa was perched atop a hill, the length of which opened out into a spectacular view of an enormous vineyard and spilled out right into the sparkling ocean.

" _Il Mar Mediterraneo_ ," the man explained. Hermione was so captivated, she had almost forgotten he was there and she jumped slightly when he spoke.

She was in Italy, she realized. She'd been there five minutes and already, this was turning out to be one heck of a lunch break!


	8. An Agreement

Author's Note: I am actually posting _two_ chapters in one day! I have to say, I've never written any sort of fanfiction before, but it is truly an interesting experience: all I want to do is write fluffy, lemony goodness, but here are these two characters with _way_ too much history to just jump straight to that. Anyway, this entire conversation was happening in my head all day, so I just decided to get it out. Thank you tons to skellyshook, K. E. Degz and iwasbotwp... your reviews are very much appreciated.

.

.

Hermione was led through another set of French doors that opened onto a shaded veranda enclosed on the sides by fruiting mango trees and with a spectacular view of the sea and the vineyards in the distance.

The servant announced her, "Miss Granger for you, _signore."_

Hermione was at once assaulted by what first appeared to be a baby bear, but upon closer inspection turned out to be a shaggy, black dog. It barreled toward her and barked wildly. It was not an unfriendly bark, but Hermione tensed up all the same.

"Legend, heel, boy!"

The dog, Legend, paid his master no heed whatsoever and jumped up on Hermione, licking every inch of her he could reach. He bounced off her leg and jumped backward, facing her, head level with the ground and rump wiggling, getting ready to spring upward in play.

"Legend! Heel! Sorry, he's still in training..."

It was the oddest sight, Hermione thought, seeing Malfoy in surroundings of such beauty. Odder still, he seemed to be surrounded by an entire pack of dogs, all of whom trotted over with their master. They were all different breeds, except for two greyhounds, and Hermione counted seven in all, including the one currently jumping up on her.

"Legend, you dope," Malfoy chided. "Come."

The dog seemed to at least recognize that command and bounded back to Malfoy, his pink tongue lolling happily as he rolled around the wizard's feet.

"He's still a puppy," Malfoy explained, scratching behind the dog's ears. "He hasn't learned his manners yet. Donato, remove this monster and occupy him. He's getting hair everywhere." Malfoy had called the dog a monster but had mussed the thick fur on the puppy's head fondly when he'd said it. Hermione thought she saw the shadow of a smile creep onto his face (she still wasn't sure he _could_ smile), but decided she must have imagined it.

" _Si,_ _signore_ ," the servant answered promptly, whistling for the puppy. Legend bounded over to the older man and they disappeared back through the French doors.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Wafts of Legend's shaggy black fur were floating through the courtyard.

"Newfoundlands," Malfoy offered as way of explanation. "They're not really meant for warm climates. But he'll go back to England with me in a few weeks, along with the rest."

The other six dogs seemed to be in disdain over the puppy's boisterous behavior and were trailing their master obediently. The largest was an enormous Irish Wolfhound, whose head reached to the bottom of Malfoy's ribcage. Two greyhounds, an English Setter, a Doberman, and – by far the smallest – a little Blue Heeler made quite an interesting pack.

"I'm more of a cat person," Hermione admitted truthfully. She had never owned a dog, much less seven of them.

"I've never been a fan of cats..."

The two of them stood on the patio awkwardly for a moment, both fully realizing how bizarre this meeting was.

Hermione cleared her throat, "This, er… this is a lovely home." _Understatement of the year…_ She blushed, realizing she was making stupid small talk with Malfoy.

"My father bought this place as a gift to my mother about ten years ago," Malfoy explained, leading her across the patio. Hermione tried to imagine getting an Italian vineyard as a gift, but couldn't quite. "She spent a good deal of time here in the winter season. My father didn't care for the clime, but it's ideal for grape-growing."

"I noticed the vineyard."

"The wine made here is some of the finest you will find anywhere."

 _Malfoy has an entire Italian vineyard. Of course he does._

Luncheon turned out to be a spread of many things, all of which smelled like summer. She took small helpings of a few things that struck her fancy but didn't eat much, despite how good it looked and smelled. She was already anticipating the Floo trip back. Her stomach lurched simply at the reminder, and she'd arrived there on an empty stomach.

"I wasn't aware I'd be travelling internationally on my lunch break."

"I haven't been living at the Manor for a few weeks."

"But you've been coming to work," she pointed out. "Have you been travelling from Italy every morning?"

"I mostly work from here. I'm a seat on a director's board, not an actual employee. The office is just a formality."

"But you were there yesterday…"

"I had a meeting with an ambassador from Sweden regarding a policy he wanted set in place." He sighed, "I _have_ been going in some days… and yes, those days I travel from Italy to get to work."

Hermione frowned, "Why not simply live in England? Surely it would be an easier commute."

"This is temporary," he shrugged. "I'm having several rooms refurbished at the Manor and the house elves have orders to remove many of my father's personal things."

They'd arrived on the subject of Lucius. Hermione knew that her offer of sympathy was the only reason she was sitting here now on this patio of an Italian villa, overlooking an expansive vineyard and the vast Mediterranean, being served luncheon by servants who offered her far more wine than she should have on a lunch break. The six dogs were nearby in the shade from the veranda overhang, standing guard or panting and sitting patiently. Occasionally, one would get up and pace to get more comfortable.

"Hang on," Hermione realized suddenly. "You have servants here, but house elves in England? Why?"

Malfoy was swirling wine around slowly in his mostly-empty glass, looking almost bored. "Keeping house elves is illegal in Italy."

Hermione perked up, "Really?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and said mockingly, "Saint Granger… don't tell me your next great endeavor will be to free all the house elves?"

"It _is_ my next proposal, yes," Hermione admitted proudly, meeting his eyes and raising her chin stubbornly.

Malfoy drained his glass. He sighed and set the glass down on the table. It was quickly refilled for him.

 _Question everything, Draco…_

"Hmph," he muttered to the voice in his head. But he had agreed to try, after all. To Hermione, he didn't make eye contact but said, "The law was taken into effect less than fifteen years ago. I can arrange for you to speak to the law maker who set it in place."

"W-what?" she stammered.

Draco looked up to see Granger staring at him in something like utter confusion. His head was slightly fuzzy with wine; he'd been doing a lot of wine-drinking lately. He took another drink and set the glass down.

"Morality, Granger."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you recall our conversation about morality?"

She did, he knew. Her lips pursed into a straight line and she was silent.

"Do I have any sense of morality: that was what you wanted to know. I have had a lot of time to do quite a bit of thinking. More than I'm sure is good for me."

Granger quirked an eyebrow at him, her face impassive. She folded her arms in front of her and leaned back in her chair, observing the man before her.

She almost looked attractive like that, Draco observed unwillingly. Her skin was delightfully flushed with the warm Mediterranean air. Her crossed arms pushed up her breasts, which were not otherwise obvious beneath her conservative blouse. The cream-colored fabric shifted and Draco noticed the start of the little trail of beauty marks that had so intrigued him before, extending past her collarbone.

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Obliviate your parents."

"Oh." She unfolded her arms both to Draco's relief and disappointment. "To protect them. They're Muggles, remember?"

"To protect the Muggles…"

"To protect my _parents_ ," she emphasized.

He looked thoughtful, "Must be an odd feeling, having a power over your parents."

"I suppose it is." Hermione hadn't really thought about it that way before.

The two fell silent for several moments and Hermione vaguely wondered what she was doing there. It was almost out-of-body how odd this luncheon was. She recalled a fourteen-year-old Malfoy attempting to hex fourteen-year-old Harry outside Snape's classroom, missing his target and hitting Hermione square in the face. Her front teeth had grown past her shirt collar and Malfoy made beaver impressions in her direction for _months_ afterward, whenever he got the chance.

But now before her was a young man: still a petty, misguided and prejudiced young man - but he had also grown into something more, though she couldn't place her finger exactly what had changed.

"It comes back to justice," Malfoy said out of nowhere, snapping her from her reverie.

"Justice, _again_ ," she remarked, not missing a beat.

"Yes," he nodded. "Justice and morality. They're a weighted pair… but surely there can't only be one true morality and only one way to properly deliver justice."

She guessed he was thinking about his father again, and said kindly, "We might like to think our judgments are always well thought out, but the truth is, people base their moral judgments on their intuition. Emotions guide those intuitions."

"So how do we determine what is the right course of action without letting emotion inhibit our conclusions?"

Hermione had a hard time wrapping it around her head that she was having a discussion on moral philosophy with Draco Malfoy, while drinking wine made from grapes growing some couple hundred yards from her seat, wearing a sooty work outfit in the Italian summer heat. If someone had told her that back in her Hogwarts days, she would have scoffed at them.

"It's difficult to say," she murmured. "It helps to listen to the opinion of many people with different backgrounds and to try to understand their thinking, then to form opinions based on your reaction to their collective thoughts."

"So it's all flawed in the end."

"I'd like to think not."

"I wouldn't even know where to begin looking for other opinions."

Astounded, Hermione realized he was actually _asking for help,_ also realizing he wasn't even aware he was even doing it. Malfoy was asking the advice of a Mudblood, and he didn't even know it.

"I have books I could lend you," she offered.

Malfoy snorted, taking a deep drink. "I'm sure you do."

Hermione refused to be hurt by his words, remembering her mother's sage advice that people who say things to hurt others were really just wounded themselves. "Do you remember a few weeks ago when you told me I was blind? 'Fettered by the idea of a utopian world' I believe were your words?"

"I still stand by that."

Hermione shrugged to show his words didn't bother her. "Perhaps," she suggested, "we could try to teach each other to understand different points of view."

He seemed to be considering her very intently and she grew uncomfortable by his gaze. Glancing at her watch, she realized she should be heading back soon, as her lunch hour was almost up.

"Terenzio," Malfoy called over his shoulder. A servant nearby approached their table for Malfoy's instructions, " _Disporre per questa donna di avere il trasporto regolare per questo luogo._ "

" _Si, signore_." The man nodded and strode off.

"You speak Italian?" Hermione blurted out, impressed.

Malfoy raised his glass to her before draining it once more. It struck Hermione that he'd had quite a bit to drink at lunch and she wondered if he'd been drinking alone.

"Terenzio will arrange it so that the Department of Magical Transportation will allow you to return here. Only by my leave, Granger," he warned, "I don't want you to come striding in any time you damn well please."

"Aren't you going to be returning to England?"

"In a few weeks, when I'm ready."

She folded her arms again, "How does your fiancée feel about you being away for so long?"

"She is away herself, with her sister, shopping for a wedding dress and vacationing in Paris."

"And she won't mind me coming here?"

"I highly doubt she would consider you a threat," Malfoy sneered. He leaned back in his own seat and observed the woman in front of him. "Monday, after you're out of work, you can come back."

Hermione crooked an eyebrow at him, "Fine."

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I never thought you'd end up with Weasley. I made wisecracks about it at Hogwarts, but I never thought you two would actually become a thing."

"And why is that?" she demanded.

Malfoy shrugged. "See you Monday, Granger. You'd better bring something interesting. I don't want to fall asleep."


	9. You'll Go the Same Way

Author's Note: Quite a bit going on in this chapter. I've got a feeling this fic is going to be a lot longer than I originally anticipated. Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ to skellyshook, K. E. Degz and iwasbotwp for your reviews!

.

.

Ron's day was not off to a good start. He'd slept through his alarm, woken up already late for work, and had been obliged to skip breakfast in his hurry to Floo in to the office. With any luck, his boss would assume he'd been working on something and the matter wouldn't even get any attention.

Unfortunately for Ron, his boss _had_ noticed his absence and was waiting by his desk for him to show up. Gawain Robards had been Head of the Auror Office when Rufus Scrimgeour had been Minister of Magic, and had resumed that post under Kingsley Shacklebolt. Robards wasn't a tall man – Ron had a good six inches on him – but he was muscular and had a lean, wolf-like face that made it clear he meant what he said. He was missing several fingers he'd lost on the job over the years.

"Weasley, I don't enjoy summoning you to my office."

"Yes, sir." Ron could feel his stomach rumbling. He was accustomed to having three square meals a day.

"You see, Weasley," Robards barked, circling Ron like a predator looking for a weak spot in its prey, "when I regained this post as Head of the Auror Office, Shacklebolt handed me two raw youths on a figurative silver platter. One of them has since excelled, becoming everything I want in a member of my team. The other has been late four times this month alone and completely cocked-up at least three missions I've given him in the last year." Robards stopped circling and got right in Ron's face. "Do you know which one of those two you are, Weasley?"

Ron swallowed the comeback he desperately wanted to say, turning even redder than his hair with the effort. "Yes, sir."

"Don't make me speak to you again," Robards warned. "I promise you, despite having the confidence of our Minister, it will get you no further without confidence from _me_."

Ron stared at the wall in order to remain straight-faced.

"I'm pulling you from the Yaxley case and giving you something less _stressful_ for you to work on, since you've made it perfectly clear your job isn't worth showing up on time for. Dismissed."

.

.

Ron found himself making his way toward Shell Cottage that afternoon, his pride still smarting from Robards' verbal lashing and with a de-briefing parchment in his pocket detailing his new case. It was a goblin-related issue and Ron knew full well from past experience with goblins that they had centuries worth of distrust for wizards simmering on the back burner at all times. It seemed like a good first step to speak with his brother Bill, who had over a decade of experience working closely with goblins at Gringotts Bank.

Shell Cottage had been used as a safe house during the War and Ron could remember his brief stay there during that time all too well. It had been a good location for a safe house for many reasons, the primary being that it was unapproachable except on foot. Wards placed on it ensured that the inhabitants would be notified when a living being made its way within a hundred yards of the little house. Ron knew this as he trudged down the sand dunes toward the cottage, hoping Bill was at home.

Bill and Fleur had recently expanded their home to include an addition, in anticipation of the arrival of a new baby due any day. Their daughter Victoire, who was two years old, now needed her own room. Fleur had insisted on the addition, as she frequently asserted she wanted at least five children.

A bush of beach roses by the front door wafted a fragrant, pleasant scent toward Ron. The salty smell of the sea also pervaded, along with the delightful promise of something baking.

Ron's stomach rumbled ominously and he hoped he might even be able to grab a quick bite of something while he was there. He never worked well on an empty stomach. He had just reached the door to the cottage and lifted his hand to knock when the door was opened by Fleur.

 _No, not Fleur_ , Ron suddenly realized, noticing that this young woman was a few years younger than his sister-in-law and most definitely not enormously pregnant. She had identical silvery hair to Fleur however, and it was wrapped around her head like a crown in numerous intricate braids. A beach rose was tucked behind her ear. She was wearing an apron and had a dusting of flour on her nose. Her pink lips were fashioned into a small 'oh' at the sight of Ron standing there and for a moment, neither knew what to say.

"Ron?" a voice called from within the cottage.

Ron snapped from his reverie, eyes still on the young woman at the door, as if trying to place her face. He'd never been good with remembering people and names.

"Ron? What are you doing 'ere?" the voice of Fleur insisted. The door opened wider to reveal his sister-in-law, who was lounging in a chair and looking ready to burst at any moment. "Gabrielle, _a_ _utoriser mon frère à l'intérieur_!"

 _Gabrielle, that was it_ , he realized with relief, _Fleur's little sister_.

Ron was ushered inside and managed to stammer out that he was looking for Bill regarding a case he had for the Auror office. Gabrielle turned away toward the kitchen, where Ron observed her pulling a tray of scones from the oven.

"Ah, Bill will be down in a moment," Fleur offered, vaguely gesturing toward the staircase. "Are you 'ungry?"

"Starved," Ron admitted sheepishly, ready and willing to accept the offer of fresh scones with clotted cream and marmalade, as well as a dish of tea. Gabrielle dutifully brought everything to the table.

"Gabrielle 'as been living here with us and she 'as been indispensable," Fleur said as she poured tea for four. "She 'as been 'elping us with Victoire while we prepare for ze new baby." She placed a hand on her enormous belly complacently. "You 'ave just missed 'er, she eez napping."

"I don't suppose you remember me," Gabrielle began, slowly turning to face Ron, "but you saved me from the Lake many years ago during the Triwizard Tournament." Her accent wasn't as thick as Fleur's, but Ron barely noticed.

"I remember," he stammered. She'd been a small girl then, maybe twelve at most. He was surprised she recalled him at all. She'd also still been an awkward teenager the last time he'd seen her, at Bill and Fleur's wedding four years ago. She was certainly not awkward anymore...

Bill descended the stair then, surprised to see his youngest brother there. "Ron? What are you doing here?"

The men spent above a quarter of an hour talking over many things goblin-related, sometimes punctuated by advice from Fleur, who had also worked at Gringotts for a number of years. Gabrielle remained mostly silent during the exchange, but Ron found himself noticing small things she did anyway, such as tucking a stray piece of hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear. She offered him another scone when he'd finished his first and Ron began to feel his day was finally perking up again.

Once Ron had exhausted all the information he felt he could glean from Bill and Fleur, he rose to take his leave.

"Stop by any time you need anything," Bill offered as Ron made his way toward the door.

"It would be nice to see you again," Gabrielle murmured shyly, tinging pink on her otherwise alabaster cheeks.

"Er, thanks for the scones," Ron replied awkwardly, turning red. "They were really good."

He felt pleasantly adrift for the rest of the afternoon.

.

.

Toula sighed dreamily, "I wish I owned an Italian villa…"

Hermione tried to hide an amused grin as she listened to her friend once again bring about the subject of yesterday's visit with Malfoy. So far, it had been the only topic her coworker seemed interested in discussing for their entire lunch break.

"I could be sipping wine in the shade of an orange tree," Toula dreamed. "Instead of sitting at this crowded desk eating leftover moussaka..."

The girls laughed and Hermione said, "It's all rather too grand for me, personally."

"I think I could manage to enjoy being waited on hand and foot," Toula joked. She became thoughtful as she chewed. "You know, for two people in committed relationships, this was an awful lot like a date."

Hermione's smile slid off her face and she scowled, "It was most certainly _not_."

" _And_ you've agreed to meet him again!"

"Malfoy is an arrogant, pureblooded princeling."

"An arrogant, pureblooded princeling who you've agreed to see again."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed, "Don't read into it. It makes me sick to my stomach."

Toula laughed, "Sorry. I'm not serious. I mean, he's engaged and you're as good as. It's just funny, isn't it?"

"He did mention he thought it was odd that I was with Ron. Something about not really thinking we would be together, even though he'd always teased me about it at Hogwarts. I tried to ask him what he meant by that, but he wouldn't say."

"I suppose it's only natural you'd mention Ron. Just to lay down good intentions…"

Hermione laughed, "If you'd gone to Hogwarts with us, you would know why that statement is ridiculous. I'm still in shock we managed to be civil toward one another for almost an entire hour. Anyway, he was the one who brought up Ron."

Toula looked surprised, "How did he know about Ron in the first place then?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. How _had_ Malfoy known she was with Ron? She wracked her brain and realized she'd never mentioned him in any of their encounters. Somehow Malfoy had already known.

"I… don't know," she admitted.

Toula squealed with glee, "Oh, Merlin – he must have _asked_ someone!"

Hermione gritted her teeth, fully realizing she was never going to hear the end of this…

.

.

Perseus Lestrange banged his fist on the table in emphasis, "I'm telling you, the time is now. We must act quickly."

Marcus Flint folded his arms across his chest, "I'll thank you not to assault my furniture, Lestrange."

Perseus ignored Flint and began gesticulating wildly with the offending hand, "If we act now - slowly at first - there are laws we can set into place - quietly - that will ensure we regain respectful footing - and eventually, power."

Draco was skeptical to the point of borderline boredom: to him, the fact that their little Pureblood Society had to meet in secret meant that the time was most definitely _not_ right for setting quiet, little laws in place and pulling favors with pureblood sympathizers. He fought the urge to say so though, mainly because he was too exhausted to argue. He hadn't been sleeping very well for some time and it was finally beginning to take a toll.

Luckily, Theo Nott spoke the words for him. "Surely it can't be the right time. We're meeting in secret. Some of us are still highly persecuted, or our families are."

"We will _always_ be persecuted until we make steps to ensure we remind the wizarding world at large that we are superior to them."

"What makes you think it would even work?" demanded Elizabeth Burke. She was an extremely attractive witch in her late twenties with chestnut hair and a complexion like a china doll. Her husband Edward owned Borgin & Burke in Knockturn Alley.

"The Dark Lord attempted to do just what you are suggesting," added Jacen Bulstrode. "He had legions of followers, took every step to ensure immortality, and was defeated by a seventeen-year-old."

There was some muttering around the table in agreement at this. Draco felt his stomach lurch just thinking about that time in his life. The inner part of his left forearm began to itch where the Dark Mark was still branded.

"Many of our families have suffered losses simply by association," Cassandra Fawley pointed out. One of her brothers had been killed after the war for sympathizing with Voldemort's views.

"The reason it didn't work last time was because we entrusted our fate to a _half-blood_ , which is what he was," sneered Perseus Lestrange, as if it should be obvious.

The room was relatively silent, as it was a concept many hadn't thought of before.

Finally Draco spoke out, "Sit down, Lestrange. None of us here are willing to wipe out our entire bloodlines for some utterly idiotic idea."

Perseus turned to Draco with narrowed eyes, "Last I checked you're doing just fine _despite_ what happened to Mummy and Daddy."

Draco folded his arms, refusing to be cowed by someone like Lestrange, "I am only a free man because I've publicly distanced myself from advocating the sort of thing you're suggesting. What you're recommending is madness."

"Just because you're too weak…"

"I'll not have you insult me," Draco interrupted firmly, locking his gray eyes with Lestrange's beetle-black ones. The air between them was so tense, it almost seemed electrified.

Finally realizing he wasn't going to get much support from the room, Lestrange stood from his seat and spat in Draco's direction, "You'll go the same way as Mummy, Malfoy." He Apparated from the room, but his presence still stifled the air like a curse.

A sense of unease hung over the table. Finally Flint cleared his throat and muttered, "Adjourned."


	10. Promises

Author's Note: Thank you iwasbotwp for your review.

.

.

"My father told me you had a disagreement with Perseus Lestrange at the last Society meeting."

Draco made a noise of derision, recalling the conversation. "I think the word disagreement is an understatement. He thinks the time is right to prove pureblood superiority… he's an idiot. I told him so and he threatened me."

Astoria ran her fingers through her hair, which was a little nervous habit of hers. Draco loved watching her long, porcelain fingers run through her dark locks, the toffee waves rippling and falling gently again about her shoulders. "You don't think he'd make good on it, do you?" she whispered anxiously.

"Of course not, he's actually a coward. He says these things just to get a rise, then gets someone else to do his dirty work for him. That's how he's always been, and that sort of behavior is what got his brother killed. He doesn't have a puppet to act through anymore, not that I'm sorry about it. Rodolphus was an idiot, too."

Astoria looked thoughtful, "Will you go back to these meetings?"

Draco shrugged. Truth be told, he really wasn't sure why he went in the first place. He supposed it was because he was expected to be there, though he wasn't sure who it was he was trying to please by fulfilling expectations anymore.

"I'd like it if you didn't."

Draco gave her a searching look. Astoria didn't often ask things of him, so the request was markedly unusual.

"I know my father goes, but I really think it's time that purebloods set a true example, of tolerance," she continued. "You know my family was never involved with the Dark Lord, though my father thought he had the right idea. But we never supported the hunting and persecution of Muggleborns."

Draco sighed, "I knew it was wrong, too - eventually. I just was too much of a coward to do anything about it."

Astoria moved toward him, sitting beside him on the leather couch of his study. A chaperone was seated on the other side of the study, reading a novel. Astoria never visited Draco without a chaperone, as part of her dowry agreement. She ran her fingers through his platinum hair, and Draco closed his eyes, savoring the feeling. "You were only a boy," she whispered. "What could you have done? You were already in so deep. You kept your head down: that was all you could do, or you would have been killed."

"I just feel like I've had enough of violence to last a lifetime," he sighed, opening his eyes to drink in the sight of Astoria's large, blue eyes filled with concern for him.

"That's because you are a good man."

Draco shook his head, "I don't think I'm a good man, but I'm glad you believe it."

"You _are_ a good man. You were strong enough to renounce your father's ways, even though you cared for him. You had plenty of opportunities to torture and murder and you couldn't do it. That's not cowardice, that's strength. I admire that about you." Astoria kissed his forehead as she murmured the last part.

"I don't deserve you."

She laughed. "Just promise me that we will raise our children with tolerance."

"For you, I will try my hardest." He shuffled her on the couch so that she was sitting on his lap.

Seeming to enjoy the change of position, she cocked an eyebrow at him and said playfully, "I've picked out a wedding dress."

Draco kissed her neck and felt her begin to melt. Softly he whispered, "I'm sure it will look lovely on the floor on our wedding night."

She shrieked with laughter and pretended to be affronted as he smirked at her, pulling her in for a deep kiss. The chaperone cleared her throat loudly and the two were obliged to separate, grinning at one another knowingly.

.

.

The weekend had dragged slowly, as had Monday morning. Toula was sick and hadn't come in that day; Hermione thought this was a mercy as she wasn't sure she could have stood for her friend teasing her for the entire day about seeing Draco after work.

Now that she was putting her things away for the evening, Hermione was in a panic. Was Toula right? Should she be worried about how this looked to other people? A inter-departmental memo from the Department of Magical Transportation informed her that everything was all set for her to travel to Italy again that evening, which confirmed that Malfoy still wanted to see her, though they hadn't been in touch since the last time they'd spoken.

Hermione studied her reflection in the mirror critically. The longer she looked, the less pleased she was. It seemed wrong somehow, to visit a place of such beauty in clothing that was so plain.

 _It will have to do_ , she decided resolutely. She had no desire to dress nicely only for Malfoy, anyway.

Hermione was met once more at the fireplace grate by Donato, the same servant who'd attended her the last time. She thought the trip there wasn't as bad as it had been before, perhaps because she was expecting it this time.

"Tergeo," she whispered, pointing her wand at her clothing and siphoning the fireplace ash from her ensemble. She couldn't believe she'd forgotten to use that one last time.

The sun was low in the sky but not ready to set yet, casting near-horizontal rays across the vineyards. Donato took her a different route this time, twisting through the long hallways of the house instead of through the courtyard with the magnificent mosaic. Hermione found herself disappointed she didn't get to see it.

One of Malfoy's greyhounds and the Doberman were wandering down one of the hallways they passed through. The dogs did an about-face as if they knew where Hermione and Donato were headed, following them.

"This way, miss."

Hermione was shown into a room that turned out to be the library. A glorious, knowledge-filled library with a luxurious collection. Many of the books seemed quite old, though there was a good portion of volumes that seemed more modern. Long windows faced the sea, where a tall ship and a scattering of sailboats were coming in to port. The two dogs trailed into the room after them and joined the English Setter that lay at his master's feet. Without warning, Hermione felt odd bringing her little volume of philosophy into the presence of this impressive collection.

Draco sat unceremoniously on the window ledge, his back leaned against the clear glass of the window, bent over a smooth wooden easel on his lap. He seemed to be writing in very cramped letters as his nose was very close to the parchment. He was dressed more casually than she was used to seeing him and his hair seemed to have been recently cut, which confirmed he was no longer keeping it long like Lucius had.

"Here is Miss Granger for you, _signore_."

Draco didn't even look up from his work, "You're late."

Affronted, Hermione scoffed, "We never set a time. I came when I was done with work."

He smirked at the page and his hand paused with the quill still poised as he looked up, "You work too hard, then."

"Will you be needing anything, _signore_?"

Draco waved the man away and Hermione was left alone with him. Her gaze roved around the shelves upon shelves of books, enraptured by the wealth of information contained there.

Her admiration must have shown on her face, for Draco's next words were a sarcastic drawl, "Figures you'd feel right at home in a library."

Hermione was torn between a biting comeback and a realization that he was absolutely right. She compromised and didn't say anything at all.

Draco had started scratching away at the parchment on his lap again. Not looking at her, he added, "I've not got all evening, Granger. I'm meeting an agent of mine in an hour and a half."

"You know, Malfoy, it wouldn't kill you to be civil. I have other things I could be doing right now, too."

"I'm sure you do, but this _was_ your idea…"

"…Which you agreed to!" she exclaimed, growing heated. "With very little convincing, I might add."

"Don't read into it too much, Granger," he drawled lazily. Gesturing to a nearby chair, he offered, "Have a seat. I hope you've brought something interesting."

The Doberman was sitting by the side of the seat she indicated, making her hesitate. She'd never been fond of large dogs and the Doberman was broad-chested and seemed highly protective of his master. Hermione defiantly stalked over to a different seat than the one he'd indicated, situating herself farther away from Malfoy and the dog.

"He doesn't bite," Draco snapped irritably.

"Mm, but perhaps you do."

He laughed at that, a true laugh. It was an unexpected sound from him and Hermione found herself smiling as well. "Fair enough, Granger. Perhaps I do bite. What did you bring?"

She showed the front of the book, which was Kant's 'Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals'. "Kant argues that there are only two things in the world that inspire genuine awe: the starry sky above and moral law within. Since you're so interested in morality, I thought…"

"Get on with it, Granger."

Hermione stood and made to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not interested in being belittled by you, Malfoy. You're not doing me some huge favor by inviting me here. I can read this at home on my own."

"Come back and sit down… please," he added as an afterthought.

It was the please that made her return to the far-off armchair. The greyhound got comfortable by her feet, cementing her in place for the moment.

Hermione began to read, but paused only a few moments in. Draco was still bent over the parchment, fastidiously scratching away. "Are you even listening?" she demanded irritably. He was really getting on her nerves that evening.

"It helps me to pay attention," he explained.

Hermione huffed, but read aloud for a little less than an hour nonetheless. She didn't look up from her book, and Draco didn't look up from his parchment. He didn't interrupt her either. The sun was beginning to spread tendrils of pastel color through the sky when Hermione finally closed the book and placed it on her lap.

Draco's quill stilled and for a moment they both were silent. The sky was a hazy orange, splashed with pink and the sea was sparkling with the sun's glory. Neither said a word, as if they were both waiting for the other to break the silence.

"He's from a few centuries ago, this man – isn't he?"

"How do you know it's a man?"

"It is, I can tell," he responded cryptically.

"He wrote this in the later half of the eighteenth century," Hermione confirmed.

"He talks himself in circles, this man Kant."

She smiled because it was true. "He does try to answer questions in a way that raises more questions."

Draco looked thoughtful. "He's got a thorough mind. He realizes it isn't a simple matter with a simple answer: people have subjective impulses – desires, inclinations – that contradict the dictates of reason."

"Therefore we view reason as an obligation, in an ideal world," Hermione continued, noticing the parchment he'd been so fastidiously working on was now slack in his hands as he mused to himself.

The library door opened to reveal a different servant, this time a rather thickset woman, " _Un uomo è arrivato, signore. Egli vuole intervistarla_."

" _Mettere il visitatore in ufficio . Io sarò lì a breve_ ," Draco answered.

" _Signore_ ," she curtseyed and closed the door.

"My agent is here," Draco explained with a sigh, glancing at the clock on the wall. "He's early."

Hermione stood to leave and he looked up at her. Her eyes shifted to the parchment on his lap, and she realized, "You were drawing?"

"It helps me to concentrate."

The sketch was very good, despite being done with only simple ink. He'd drawn the English Setter that was still dutifully laying by his master on the carpet.

"You draw well."

"Don't seem so surprised, Granger."

She opened her mouth to retort, but shut it when she realized he wasn't meaning to be offensive. "I'd better be on my way." She tucked her book under her arm and disentangled herself from the greyhound who'd become quite comfortable by her feet.

"Come back Wednesday, will you."

It wasn't really a question, which bothered her. She wasn't a servant. She sniffed with a small measure of disdain and answered, "I am helping Ginny with her wedding things on Wednesday."

Draco seemed unfazed, "Thursday then."

Hermione looked thoughtful. She knew she had nothing to do on Thursday, and she had to admit to herself, this meeting hadn't been all bad, "Alright."

"You can use the fireplace in here to get back." Draco stood to show her around a nearby bookshelf where a brick fireplace and a bowl of Floo Powder were.

"Thank you."

"Oh, and Granger," he added, smirking at her as she took a handful of the green powder, "don't be so late next time."


	11. Justice for What?

Author's Note: Ugh. I got into a car accident today. I'm alright but my car is probably totaled. This chapter was just to release pent up frustration. It's also quite a bit shorter than the others, but you will see why it needed to end where it did. Thanks iwasbotwp for your review, I really appreciate your thoughts and input.

.

.

"I'm glad you felt the urge to return."

"I have some more questions for my brother regarding the goblin case I'm working on," Ron explained, feeling his ears go red.

Gabrielle was wearing a short sundress today and no shoes. There was something beautiful even about her naked feet. Her hair was wrapped in braids around her head again, like a crown. She was positively ethereal.

"It's really nice to see you again, so soon," she said softly, taking his hand in hers and guiding him gently to the sitting room. "Bill, Fleur, and Victoire are upstairs, putting some last minute touches on the new baby's room."

"It's, er, really nice for you to stay here and help them," Ron managed to stutter out. He was desperately trying to get a grip, reminding himself that she was part veela, just like Fleur, which was why he felt such a pull to her. _Think of Hermione_ , he told himself stoutly, trying to clear his head.

"It does get lonely sometimes," she murmured.

Ron – who by his own admission, was a perfectly oblivious person – noticed her making eyes at him. What had he done to deserve the attention of a young woman this beautiful? _No_ , he stopped himself there, _she's part veela, which is the only reason you're noticing her – and you have Hermione._ Still, it was hard for him to ignore the nineteen-year-old batting her long, dark eyelashes at him, finding excuses to touch his arm…

"I'll just go upstairs and see him, then," Ron announced, standing from his seat in the sitting room, his voice slightly cracking.

Ron forced himself up the stairwell toward the sound of his brother's voice, but not before he noticed the disappointed look on Gabrielle's face.

.

.

"Teddy! No Teddy, don't…!" cried Harry, catching one of Andromeda Tonks's vases in the nick of time. Really, if he didn't have the reflexes of a Seeker, the vase would have broken.

"Thanks, Harry," Andromeda said gratefully, taking the vase and setting it on the dinner table.

Blue-haired Teddy ran though the room, screaming and wearing nothing but his bedsheet. Andromeda grabbed her grandson around the waist and hoisted him up onto her shoulder, where he shrieked with delight and laughed.

"Little scamp," she muttered fondly.

Harry visited Teddy and Andromeda most days. Andromeda had become very attached to Harry as she got to know him over the past three years. Teddy kept her head and her heart busy, making him indispensible to her following the loss of her husband, daughter, and son-in-law. While she hadn't spoken to either of her sisters in decades, their deaths were still painful to her, despite the relief she also felt in Bellatrix's case. Teddy was full of buoyancy; despite the hardships life had thrust on her, Andromeda could still laugh because of him.

"Harry!" Teddy exclaimed, reaching out to his godfather.

Andromeda passed her grandson to Harry, who took him happily. Teddy ripped Harry's glasses from his face and put them on, himself. Harry chuckled.

"Staying for dinner, Harry?"

"Thank you, I'd love to get away from wedding business for a little bit," Harry answered in the affirmative, tickling Teddy furiously. The little boy laughed loudly and attempted very unsuccessfully to fend off his godfather. "Ginny is swamped with wedding plans. That's partially why I'm here: I came here to see about Teddy acting as Ringbearer… and on another matter."

"Where Ginny?" Teddy demanded, the bedsheet falling completely off and leaving him nude.

"She's at home, you little exhibitionist," Andromeda retorted. "Now go find your drawing to show Harry. He will want to see it."

Teddy's eyes lit up and he raced, still nude, from the room. They could hear him tinkering with things in his playroom in search of something.

"You don't need to ask about Teddy being in your wedding, you're like a father to him," Andromeda said warmly. "You've watched him grow up while growing up yourself. But what is this other matter?"

"It's a difficult one to discuss," Harry admitted, "because it's about a time in your life I know you've tried to forget. I need to know if you can think of anyone that would have wanted your sister killed."

"I can only assume you mean Narcissa. Half the wizarding world wanted Bellatrix dead."

"I do. We still haven't caught Narcissa's killer. I now have reason to believe there is someone trying to harm her son."

Andromeda's brow furrowed, "It's hard for me to say. As you know, I was disowned by my family when I married Ted. It was dishonorable in the extreme for a pureblood to lower themselves to marry a Muggle."

"I know," Harry apologized. "I wouldn't be asking if I had any other leads. It's a cold case, as she's been dead for over two years, but someone killed her in such a way as it would be most likely for her son to find her body, which he did…"

"Draco found Narcissa first?" Andromeda demanded sharply.

"He did."

Just then Teddy came racing back into the room with the drawing he had done earlier that day, to show his godfather. His hair was a bright orange now. He'd inherited his ability to change his features from his Metamorphmagus mother.

"That's great, Teddy," Harry praised, genuinely meaning it. It was very clearly a three-year-old version of Teddy himself and his grandmother. "You know, I think you could be an artist someday."

Teddy occupied Harry and Andromeda for a few more moments before they were able to resume their conversation. "I never knew Draco was the one to find his mother's body."

"Yes. One of the house elves notified the proper authorities. The Auror office was called in because Draco originally refused to release her body for examination."

"Oh dear…"

"It was clear she was murdered. It wasn't the work of the Avada, either. I wasn't on the case then since I was only a rookie, but whoever had done it, did it the Muggle way."

Andromeda's eyes went wide. "You mean… they…"

"Stabbed her to death, yes," Harry confirmed. His green eyes flashed in concern, "Does it bother you to hear?"

"It does bother me," admitted Andromeda, "but I will listen. I need to know more now you've begun telling me."

Harry nodded. "She was murdered in her bedroom. There was a clear sign of a struggle, but the killer was clever and left no trace of their identity that could be discovered by magical means. It was clearly premeditated. They…" Harry paused here, clearly at the part of the tale that most disgusted him, "they cut her throat and used her blood to write a word on the mirror in the room: justice."

"Justice," repeated Andromeda sadly. The pair were silent for a moment before she wondered, "But justice for what?"

"That's the question. The Malfoys were never what anyone would consider to be an innocent family... but none of the other murders committed by those attempting to avenge their loved ones on Death Eaters' families were ever so brutal. We had suffocations, spells, and the occasional poisoning. This was an entirely new level, clearly committed by someone with a thirst for violence."

"Poor Draco," murmured Andromeda. She'd never spoken to her nephew, but she could imagine how he must have felt upon finding his mother's destroyed body in his own home.

Harry nodded in agreement, despite his rocky past with Malfoy. "No one deserves to come home to that."

"As you said, it could be related to War crimes," Andromeda began slowly.

Harry had come to know Andromeda very well over the past few years of visiting with Teddy, so he noticed the speculation in her voice that another might have passed over. "But there is something else you're thinking about as well."

"Well…" she began, "don't you put too much stock in this, mind. I doubt if either Lucius or Draco ever knew this about Narcissa, but when she was a teenager she entered into a relationship with a boy her age, unbeknownst to our parents. I was the only one she ever told; Bellatrix was never able to keep a secret. When I ran off with Ted, the boy convinced Narcissa that it was the perfect opportunity to tell her parents of their intended union. Narcissa didn't know she'd already been promised to Lucius Malfoy."

"What happened?"

"Well, if there's something you need to understand about pureblood marriages, it's that they're binding in more ways than just legally. It's a magically binding agreement as well. You can't just back out because you're in love with someone else. She had no choice but to break it off with him and marry Lucius."

"That must have been decades ago. What made you think of him now?" Harry wondered.

"Because Perseus Lestrange is exactly the type of man to wait decades for revenge."


	12. Stronger Than Scars

Author's Note: Thank you iwasbotwp, K. E. Degz and Calindy for your reviews. Reviewers are the best!

.

.

Draco was in the library again, sitting in his window seat with his drawing on his lap, the same as last time. The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon and the sailing ships were coming in to port. Hermione thought she noticed the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced. Perhaps he hadn't been sleeping well.

"Granger," he acknowledged.

"Malfoy."

Hermione settled herself into the same seat she'd read to him from the last time. Just as before, the younger greyhound paced by her legs protectively before getting comfortable at her feet. Draco seemed genuinely surprised and raised a pale eyebrow. "I think Aries likes you. Which is odd, since he doesn't like many people."

"Nice boy, Aries." Hermione patted the dog's head quickly before withdrawing her hand.

Malfoy's entire pack was in the library that day, including the puppy, tuckered out from playing all day and was snoozing heavily on the carpet by the little Blue Heeler. There was a mostly-empty crystal tumbler of what looked like bourbon by Draco's side, accompanied by an empty one on the little table nearby. Hermione noted them, but didn't comment.

Instead she observed, looking around, "You have so many dogs." Indeed, much of the library floor was occupied.

"Aster and Caliber were my father's dogs," Draco explained, gesturing to the other greyhound and the English Setter respectively. "Annie was my mother's." He pointed to the Blue Heeler. "My mother also had a little Rat Terrier, but when she died, the dog stopped eating. We've always had a lot of dogs."

It felt odd hearing Malfoy talk about his late mother - especially about a pet she'd had that had loved her so much it had starved itself in her absence. Hermione glanced at the surviving Blue Heeler, snuggling with Draco's own puppy on the carpet.

"I just have one cat I got when I was thirteen. Ron was so mad at me in third year because he thought Crookshanks had eaten his pet rat. Turns out the rat was actually an Animagus that had gone into hiding."

Draco raised both eyebrows, his nose wrinkling. "Weasley had a pet rat that turned out to be a _person_? That is quite possibly the most horrifying thing I have heard in a long time."

"It gets worse, believe it or not. It turned out the rat was Peter Pettigrew in Animagus form."

The look of revulsion on Draco's face deepened to one of utter disgust. "Pettigrew was a Death Eater."

"I know. He was the one who handed Harry's parents over to Voldemort. Bit of an awkward reuinion when we found out, actually."

Hermione noticed Draco flinch at her use of Voldemort's chosen name. She refrained from saying anything, though she did feel an odd sense of mild satisfaction at his discomfort. He took another long drink from the glass by his side, instead merely saying, "What did you bring?"

"Well, I brought a few options, since I wasn't sure if you'd want to continue with Kant, or move on," she explained, sounding just like the know-it-all bookworm he remembered from his Hogwarts days. "This is a novel called 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' about the moral corruption and downfall of an originally innocent man..."

"How far are you with your house elf proposal?"

Hermione's brow furrowed at the sudden change in topic, "I have some basic arguments laid out and the beginning of the proposal written, but…"

"The Italian lawmaker is planning to be in England next week on business. I'll have my secretary arrange a luncheon with him. You can pick his brain, or whatever it was you were planning to do."

Hermione blinked in confusion before demanding, "Why are you helping me with this?"

Draco downed the remainder of his glass. "I'm a reformed man, remember? Morality in the name of justice and all that."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, her heart pounding as she spoke, "I think you're absolutely _obsessed_ with justice for a man who largely escaped the claws of the Ministry following the War."

If Draco had flinched inwardly at her words, his face didn't betray it. Instead he merely repeated, "The claws of the Ministry… how accurate."

"Maybe I should go," Hermione uttered, her hands clutching the books she'd brought. "I'm not sure why I thought meeting you would be a good idea. Even if you _were_ completely reformed, it doesn't change history."

Draco noted her white knuckles clenched around the books she'd brought and said quietly with an ironic smirk, "Not interested in having your professional endeavors being tainted with the name of Malfoy, are you, Granger?"

Draco observed the young woman sitting in his library. Her blanched expression revealed that she wasn't comfortable around him. Perhaps, he mused, she still spent a lot of her waking hours in the past - in the War - as he did. He was sure Goody-Two-Shoes Granger had experienced her own share of horrors when she was on the run with Potter and Weasley, trying to save the world.

"Well?" he barked.

She sucked in a breath. "I'm not naïve enough to believe in a perfect world anymore."

"I should hope not. I don't. The wizards at the top of the Ministry's proverbial ladder may have changed, but the faceless bureaucrats behind the scenes haven't. People may hate my family's name for a variety of reasons, but they somehow always seem to find their scruples disappear when they want an investor…"

"It's all relative, isn't it?" Hermione asked unexpectedly. "The concept of an ideal world? I mean, I fought for what I thought the best outcome would be and you fought for your own version. They weren't the same vision, but we both thought we were right..."

"For once in your bloody life," Draco contradicted, "you might be wrong, Granger. I fought for what my _Father_ thought was a better world. It had always worked out pretty well for me, until it didn't. Who was I to question it?"

Hermione reflected that Harry was probably right about Malfoy: he did seem to harbor regret about his past. "We all made choices during the War," she responded diplomatically.

The books lay forgotten on the arm of her preferred chair. Draco swallowed, reaching for his glass and finding it empty. "I'm sure none of your choices left you with disfigurement and years of regret." Draco laid a hand instinctively on his forearm. The Dark Mark had faded over the years and was no longer a distinctive black, but more like a scar.

In his mind, he never saw the reality that was the pale outline on his flesh. In his mind, it was always dark, fresh, and writhing.

"Oh no?" In her voice was a small challenge. Draco watched her peel her sleeve back to reveal her own forearm where the word 'Mudblood' was scratched into her skin in uneven letters, a faded scar not unlike his own. "I think your deranged aunt can be thanked for this particular disfigurement."

Draco stared at the ravaged flesh he'd been confronted with. He could remember that evening at Malfoy Manor in excruciating detail. He'd watched Bellatrix torture Granger, heard her screams echoing in the cavernous entrance hall of his home, heard her insist she didn't know anything about what Bellatrix had asked... and he had done nothing.

"I'm not ashamed of it," Hermione admonished, her voice shrill, but her head held high as she rolled the sleeve down to cover the slur. "My mother told me scars were marks that proved you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you."

Draco titled his head to the side, considering this new angle. He shrugged, "I guess I hadn't thought of it that way before."

Perceptively and still tentatively, Hermione said, "It's that way for yours, too."

Draco's expression became stony and he desperately wished he had another bourbon. So Granger thought she could redeem him, did she? "You're wasting your time on that notion. I am still a bastard in all but birth."

As if by some sixth sense, a servant arrived with another crystal tumbler, plus a spare, and the bottle of bourbon he'd just been wishing for.

"You can leave the bottle," Draco suggested.

Hermione noticed Malfoy drank like a man who'd done an awful lot of drinking lately. Her nose wrinkled slightly, but she accepted when he offered her a rather generous amount of the amber liquid. It burned slightly, but slid smoothly down her throat and she peered at the bottle on the table.

"Is this American?" she asked.

Draco nodded. "Yanks know how to do something right, at least."

Hermione felt pleasantly light-headed after the bourbon, less like she'd just reminded Malfoy his aunt had tried to murder her before turning her over to the clutches of a bloodthirsty werewolf.

As if sensing her train of thought, Draco shuddered. "I saw what Greyback did to his victims. No one deserves that."

"Yes, well, the maniac is gone now," Hermione retorted nastily.

"Justice," Malfoy muttered. "Justice for a monster…"

Emboldened by the bourbon and harried by his bringing up justice again, she blurted, "Harry thinks there are people after you still."

To her surprise, he didn't seem shocked at all but merely said, "I know."

"Maybe… you should go into hiding for awhile, until things quiet down?"

"While I am grateful for your concern in preserving my well-being, Granger," Draco answered with some degree of sarcasm, "I believe I've had enough of cowardice to last me a lifetime."

Hermione appraised the young man in the window seat, his half-finished sketch lying abandoned next to him and the enormous Irish Wolfhound by his side. "You're not the same boy I went to school with."

"I should hope not."

"You were always such an entitled prat."

He smirked, "Still an entitled prat."

She smiled, realizing he was right, but for the first time, not hating him for it. Hermione stood from her seat, disrupting Aries the greyhound, who had become rather comfortable at her feet. She patted the dog on the head in apology. "I think I'll leave 'Dorian Gray' and you can read it on your own."

"Where are you going?" Draco demanded.

"Home."

"But you just got here," he objected.

"This conversation has been emotionally exhausting and I'm tired. Read the book and I'll come back next week. We can discuss it then."

Draco sneered, "You want me to read an entire book within a week? I _do_ have other things that take up my time, you realize."

"Well we'll discuss whatever you get through then." She turned on her heel and moved toward the fireplace.

"Granger?"

She turned, a handful of Floo powder already enclosed in her fist.

"I am moving back to the Manor this weekend. The renovations were done more quickly than expected."

"I see."

"It would be good if you could go there Monday."

Hermione noticed he said it more as a suggestion than a request. She raised a dark eyebrow and Draco decided that was a good look for her. She had nice eyebrows: elegant and natural-looking, nicely framing her dark eyes, which were the color of espresso.

"Monday it is," she conceded before she disappeared into the fireplace, leaving behind only the memory of her presence and the book she'd brought.

Draco picked up the book she'd placed on the armchair and observed the cover. A man looked at a portrait of an older, ugly man with a nasty look on his face. He'd never heard of Oscar Wilde, the author. Flipping the book over, he read the brief synopsis there and vaguely wondered if this was a Muggle novel in his hands. The scene on the front wasn't moving, so it was certainly plausible. Taking another drink of the bourbon, he settled back into his window seat and began to read.


	13. No Horcrux to Blame

Author's Note: *dodges rotten fruit*

.

.

Despite that she had been out of school for a couple years already, Hermione still felt a building anticipation every year when the first of September came around and she wasn't preparing to arrive at King's Cross Station and hop on the Hogwarts Express.

As if reading her friend's thoughts, Ginny nudged Hermione in the arm. "Weird not going there, isn't it?"

"It is. I've only been out two years and it's still odd."

"Hey, Ginny – Hermione!"

"Ron?"

Ron embraced Hermione and kissed her nose, grinning at her. "George, Harry, and I fancy a bit of pre-dinner Quidditch in the backyard. Care to join?"

"I don't have to be on your team, do I?" Ginny demanded. Hermione laughed.

George snuck up behind the girls and surprised Ginny by ruffling her hair. "You and me, little sis. Wouldn't have it any other way."

Hermione watched the boys and Ginny race around on broomsticks for a half an hour in the languid evening heat that had settled over the Weasleys' backyard. It was nice to see George laughing, she reflected. He hadn't done it for almost a year following his twin's death, and progress was still ongoing.

When it began to grow dark, Mrs. Weasley called them all in for supper, just like old times.

Sunday night dinners at the Burrow were an entirely new sort of scene, however nostalgic being called in from the backyard for a hearty meal might be. Bill and Fleur were absent, considering Fleur was due at any moment and travel was uncomfortable for her. Percy and his wife and daughter were there, and of course, Teddy Lupin.

Dinner was the usual overflow of Mrs. Weasley's delicious home cooking and too many voices talking and laughing at once. Hermione took her usual seat between Ron and Percy. Ron smiled at her and took her hand under the table, drawing little circles on her skin with his thumb. Percy began talking about work almost at once.

Much of the conversation seemed to revolve around Harry and Ginny's wedding plans, or Bill and Fleur's expected addition to their family. Hermione found herself explaining the nuances of her centaur land law to Mr. Weasley and Charlie, the latter of whom wanted to know if she planned on implicating something similar for giants and dragons as well. The two spent a quarter of an hour, while the family passed around plates piled high with food to distribute, discussing the logistics.

Halfway through dinner, Percy leaned over toward Hermione and commented, ""I have to say Hermione, your travel habits are suddenly quite interesting."

"Oh?"

"My assistant brought it to my attention that you've been to Italy three times in the past two weeks."

Hermione colored. She hadn't forgotten he'd been recently promoted to the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation – Percy surely mentioned work often enough – but she hadn't anticipated his noticing her movements. "I'm working on my house elf proposal next," she explained quickly, turning redder still. "It's illegal to keep an unpaid elf in Italy and I've been trying to figure out how they went about putting that law into effect."

"It's S.P.E.W. all over again," Harry groaned good-naturedly.

"Ah, I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation," Percy answered, looking satisfied and adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses. "But my assistant was very concerned - considering who you are and the role you played in the downfall of Voldemort - that you'd been visiting the home of a known former Death Eater."

"Perhaps your assistant should keep his concerns to himself," Hermione suggested icily.

"You've been doing what?" Ginny gaped at her.

"It's work-related."

"Hermione... have you been visiting Malfoy?" Harry queried, his green eyes suddenly serious and searching.

"He's supporting my law, getting me in touch with the lawmaker who..."

She was interrupted by Ron, whose hand was frozen on hers now, "He's a Death Eater, Hermione."

"People change, Ron."

"He tried to kill us!" Ron insisted, his face masked in horror. He released her hand in disgust. "People like that don't _change_."

The whole table was silent now, every pretense of being lost in other conversations gone.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron demanded.

"I told you, it's work-related! There's no reason to bore you with details of …"

"So you've been going to an ex-terrorist's house on your own?" He rounded on Harry and Ginny and demanded, "Did she tell you about this?"

Both shook their heads but Ginny added, "But I trust Hermione. She's smart, she knows what she's doing."

Ron pushed his chair back from the table and stormed out.

"Ron!" Hermione called after him, now thoroughly embarrassed. The rest of the table was looking at her expectantly. She rounded on Percy, who looked properly ashamed of himself for bringing up the subject, but she couldn't bring herself to berate him for it.

"He'll see reason, Hermione," Harry finally said reassuringly. "He does know you're not going to do anything crazy, like leave him for Malfoy. I mean, it's _Malfoy_..."

"He probably wouldn't take you anyway, the racist prick," Ginny grumbled under her breath.

"Ron knows you wouldn't get yourself into a situation you can't handle," Harry added. "You know he always comes back."

That was the comment that did it. "He shouldn't have to _come back_ , he shouldn't be leaving _in the first place_!" Hermione pushed away from the table in frustration and followed Ron into the yard, her mind racing as she remembered another moment Ron had stormed off and left her behind. "Ron!" she called into the night.

When he didn't respond, she began to panic. It was the War all over again. She remembered crying his name into the night after he'd accused her of having romantic feelings for Harry, the horcrux around his neck making him even more unreasonable. He'd Disapparated and Hermione searched for him in that lonely, dark wood for above a half-hour before finally dissolving into a sobbing mess on the forest floor.

"Ron!" she screamed again.

Inwardly, Harry flinched at the desperation he heard in her voice, even from the dinner table. He remembered the night Ron had abandoned them both quite vividly, though he would never have brought it up to Ron. Harry stood up and followed Hermione out, signaling to Ginny that no one should follow him.

"Hermione…" he murmured softly, approaching the woman who was one of his best friends.

"Why?" she demanded, rounding on him with tears running quietly down her cheeks. "Why does he _always_ do this? Why can't he simply hear me out, or take me at my word?"

"Come here," Harry offered, taking his friend into his arms and hugging her tightly. "You know I love you."

They both knew what he meant. Theirs wasn't a romantic love, but rather the sort of the strongest type of friendship, such as between siblings. It was pure and strong and characterized by a fierce loyalty.

Hermione made a small sobbing noise into Harry's shirt and clung to him, while Harry thought of all the things he would like to say to Ron at that moment.

They both knew there was no horcrux to blame this time.

.

.

Gabrielle looked confused at seeing him at the door, "Ron?"

Her hair was down, shaken free from her braids for the night, but crinkled from wearing them thus all day. The night closed in around her as she stood in the doorway, her willowy frame seeming to cast her own sort of soft, silvery light, like the moon.

"Are Bill and Fleur here?" Ron demanded more forcefully than he'd meant.

"They've just gone up to put Victoire to bed, I'll…"

Ron seized Gabrielle's face in his hands and kissed her like she was clear water and he was a man who had been parched for days.

She was surprised at first, but she let him kiss her. She allowed her mouth to fall open and encouraged his tongue to invade. Her hands grasped at his shirt as he pulled her into the darkness outside the cottage. He felt himself ease into a steady kind of control as her body melted into his. The sweet smell of the bush of beach roses permeated his senses and for a moment, all was right with the world.

In the back of his mind, Ron knew he was using her: she wanted him, for some strange reason he couldn't fathom. As he kissed Gabrielle, his mind conjured the image of Malfoy smirking at him and leaning in toward Hermione, who smiled at him the way she always did at Ron. The green monster of jealousy had seized him and Ron deepened the kiss, pulling Gabrielle in closer.

When they finally parted, she gazed at him with sparkling eyes and Ron swallowed nervously. The pit of his stomach seemed to drop into nothingness as he grasped the consequences of what he'd just done...

.

.

Draco stepped into the familiar hall of Malfoy Manor, feeling the sense of unease he always did when entering any place.

"Homenum Revelio."

Nothing happened. It was just him, the dogs, and the house elves then. He relaxed somewhat and sauntered into the hall, headed toward the library.

It had been almost two months since his father had told him about the prophecy, but he certainly hadn't forgotten it. A prophecy the Malfoys had kept in secret for fourteen generations regarding one of their own… a mysterious divination that no one in the world knew the content of at that given moment.

That's what Lucius had told him, that day in his cell in Azkaban. Draco's parents had known it, but his mother had been murdered and his father as good as.

The thought had occupied his mind most days, but he couldn't go back to the Manor yet. There had been too much of his parents' presence there, from Lucius's greatcoat still hanging in the vestibule to his mother's collection of romance novels in the part of the library that got the best light. Draco had avoided touching these things over the past few years because to do so would have made their absence final...

...He now knew those things needed to be packed away for him to stay sane. He felt he was on the brink of being unhinged. He'd taken to drinking more than usual since that day he'd visited his father for the last time. Somehow it was simultaneously worse that Narcissa was dead, now that Lucius was also gone forever.

"Good afternoon, Master!" a house elf squeaked in the hallway as he passed. "Is you needing anything?"

Draco waved the creature away and continued toward the library. Things were missing in the halls he passed through, and others had changed. The halls had wood paneled flooring now, instead of carpet. A door had been replaced leading to the kitchens. The dusty, gas lamps that had once been there had been replaced by brighter, newer versions displaying the same sort of timeless elegance. He'd spent more money than he should have on the renovations, but it felt better somehow.

Replacing things had made the place seem less like the haunted mansion of his nightmares.

He stopped outside the library and was accosted by another house elf. "Master, is you wanting your dogs? They is looking for you."

"Yes, that would be good." Draco hadn't wanted them until they were offered. He found their presence comforting now that he was essentially alone in the world. He whistled softly and was answered by a deep bark that he knew belonged to Deacon the Doberman, only a few rooms away.

"Is you wanting anything I can bring you, Master?" the elf queried.

"No," Draco answered sharply. "Just… privacy."

The elf bowed and disappeared with a crack, just as the dogs rounded the corner in a group, surrounding their master, tails wagging. They'd all made the trip back from Italy safe and sound.

"Come." The pack followed Draco into the library, where he was glad of the company, even if the company in question did generate quite a bit of hair and drool.

He knew exactly where the book on the Malfoy family genealogy was; it had been a source of much study with his father over the course of his life.

"It's important to know where you come from and why the name of Malfoy makes you special," his father had told him.

 _Horse shit_ , he now whispered in the back of his mind.

The library at the Manor was superior to the smaller one at Terrazza Mosaico, as it was the culmination of over a thousand years of collecting books, taking up three connected rooms of the Manor by the time Draco was grown. His grandfather had been an avid collector of books and had expended the collection a good deal. It rivaled even the collection at Hogwarts, though it was slightly younger.

 _If Granger enjoyed the collection at Terrazza Mosaico, she will really lose her mind when she sees this one_ , Draco thought to himself.

His brow furrowed. Why was he thinking about Granger? She wasn't due to come there until the following evening. He shook her out of his head and focused on finding the genealogy book. It was time for his mind to be relieved about at least one thing.


	14. Verily It Shall Pass

Author's Note: This chapter is a kind of mini-tribute to good old-fashioned mystery novels. Sliding bookshelves, hidden corridors, old family secrets... I love them. Give me Sherlock Holmes any day! Thank you, as always, for your review iwasbotwp. Reviews can help shape the whole story.

.

.

Draco's eyebrow quirked up as the heavy bookcase slid to the right across the stone of the library wall revealing a black corridor beyond. He was surprised how easily he'd found it once he knew where to look: the back of the bookcase behind the genealogy book revealed a series of scratches, which turned out to be instructions for wand movements, not unlike the entrance to Diagon Alley from the Leaky Cauldron.

"Lumos," he pronounced.

A flash of light threw the dark corridor into sharp relief. It was stone, a continuation of the walls of the library. Draco glanced behind him, suspicious by nature. Experiences in the Dark Lord's inner circle had made him wary of entering hidden places alone. Who knew what lurked in the dark? Still, even if there had been someone to accompany him, he wasn't sure he wanted to share this moment with anyone else.

 _Surely Father wouldn't send his only son to his death_ , he reasoned.

"Festus, here boy," Draco called softly. All seven dogs raised their heads but only the Irish Wolfhound stood and padded over softly to his master. Festus might be a huge, but he was a gentle giant. All the same, Draco felt comforted by his presence. The dog had been gifted to him as a sixteenth birthday present by his mother.

Draco stepped forward and realized the corridor led shortly to a set of steps spiraling downward. Raising his wand to peer down, he began the descent with some amount trepidation. It wasn't that he didn't trust Lucius, but that he was afraid what he might find that was so important to the Malfoy family.

Draco had never known any Malfoy to put much stock in the art of soothsaying. He had never bothered studying Divination at Hogwarts. In fact, until the famous prophecy detailing that Potter would destroy the Dark Lord came true, he'd always sneered at the idea that a human could predict the future. Now he was not so sure. A lump formed in his throat, but his step quickened in defiance of that fear as he wound his way down the spiral stair of stone, Festus trailing only a few steps behind.

The stair was not long, probably a single flight, but it was a dark descent except for the glow of Draco's wandlight and the faint blue haze of something ahead. As he stepped off the bottom stair, a pair of torches sputtered and blazed into flame in reaction to his presence, startling him with the sudden light.

The room was barely half the size of Narcissa's old walk-in closet and completely unadorned. The walls were formed by the same stone as the passage leading to it. In fact, the room was entirely empty except for the torches on the walls and a pedestal in the very center of the room, upon which sat a glass orb small enough to fit in the palm of Draco's hand. The faint blue light he'd noted in the passage seemed to come from within it.

Draco stared at the orb for a few moments. Festus stepped up beside him and nudged his master's hand as if to say, _Go ahead_.

"I must be barmy," he muttered to himself.

Draco reached for the orb. It was cold to the touch and filled with a misty substance. The moment his fingers made contact, the thing began glowing brighter and a vague fog seemed to rise from it into the shape of a middle-aged man, his face lined with wrinkles, completely bald but with an impressive dark beard reaching his chest. The projection of the man was wearing plain, old-fashioned homespun and his eyes had rolled back into his head. In a deep voice that filled the entire room with its reverberations, the man intoned:

" _Verily it shall pass… the line of Malfoy shall jealously guard in secret… for ten and five generations… a divination ensuring their own continuation… and amaranthine eminence… by virtue of one of their own. Heretofore the dragon sleeps… an upheaval of what once was sacred… a reckoning of the connection betwixt two souls… victims of hate and prejudice. The otter protects that which is ancient in nature… the liminality of star-crossed souls. Thither go to speak to the stars in the wandwood grove… erelong the northern constellation shall reveal the truth… to which memory alone binds us."_

The vision of the man retracted into the orb, leaving only the soft blue light once more.

Draco blinked a few times. The words the soothsayer had spoken were archaic, as the prophecy itself also was. The bones of the man must have long since turned to dust.

Memory Alone Binds Us.

Draco blinked quickly, repressing the feeling bubbling up within him.

He listened to the whole thing several more times, sitting on the bottom step of the stair while Festus paced nervously. Neither man nor dog was used to being confined in a small room, in semi-light.

The first part seemed clear enough: " _Verily it shall pass… the line of Malfoy shall jealously guard in secret… for ten and five generations… a divination ensuring their own continuation… and amaranthine eminence… by virtue of one of their own_." That part had already come to pass, most probably because the Seer had ensured it with his words. The Malfoys would guard this selfsame prophecy in secret because they had been told that doing so would ensure the family line would continue on, characterized by everlasting respectability. This would be cemented in place by the Malfoy family members themselves, for fifteen generations.

The part that bothered Draco was that Lucius had indicated this secret had been kept for fourteen generations already and the prophecy clearly referenced the importance of the fifteenth generation of Malfoy... which was himself.

Draco frowned; he had enough on his plate already without something ancient and mystical occurring.

He moved on, trying not to think too hard about it.

 _"Heretofore the dragon sleeps…"_ Did that mean there was a real dragon somewhere that would awaken? He wasn't sure he wanted that. Of course, he recognized it could also be a play on his own name, considering he was the ill-fated fifteenth generation that would ultimately have to deal with this... whatever it was.

Great.

"… _an upheaval of what once was sacred…"_ Did the prophecy refer to the reduction of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to the Sacred Fifteen? The Sacred Twenty-Eight had been established hundreds of years after the prophecy would have been made. Not that, that disqualified the idea.

"… _a reckoning of the connection betwixt two souls_ … _victims of hate and prejudice."_ Well, there was certainly a lot of both hate and prejudice going on these days, even a handful of years after the Dark Lord's downfall.

The next part was the most frustrating of the lot: " _The otter protects that which is ancient in nature… the liminality of star-crossed souls."_

Liminality was such a hazy idea, but Draco had not been third in his class for nothing. Still, the concept of being neither here nor there was about as obscure as its definition. The most concrete thing in the entire sentence was the mention of the otter, which he had no inklings about of any kind, having never even seen one. It apparently would protect something ancient in nature, whatever that might be.

He would have to give that part some more thought.

 _"Thither go to speak to the stars in the wandwood grove… erelong the northern constellation shall reveal the truth…"_ This bit seemed to be actual instructions. Speak to the stars and they will reveal some great truth.

 _"...to which memory alone binds us."_

Memory Alone Binds Us. Draco had often wondered why his father had decided to use those particular words on Narcissa's grave. They had always seemed so formal and cold; now he realized they were highly personal. What had Lucius known?

Festus let out a low whine that startled Draco from his thoughts. He'd tarried there too long and the dog was getting anxious.

Draco set the orb back on its pedestal where it rested serenely, as if it hadn't just thrown his already-turbulent life into near-chaos. There was a moment he thought about seizing it and smashing it against the stones on the walls, but the more rational part of his brain reminded him that he would regret it if he did. Instead he allowed Festus to lead him up the hidden stair and back into the library, where the late afternoon light was filtering pleasantly through the stained glass windows, leaving kaleidoscopic patterns on the library floor.

.

.

Hermione knew her parents had always been early risers. Since her work day started at nine and she knew her parents had been up and about at half past six, she felt no reservations against trudging into their kitchen the morning after her fight with Ron, seeking comfort and advice.

She was promptly given a mug of hot chocolate, a seat on the couch, and invited to launch into the entire story with her mother. She left out very little.

Her mother was silent throughout the whole ordeal, allowing her daughter to pour her heart out. When Hermione had finished, Katherine Granger took a deep breath and merely observed, "I think Ron may not be mature enough for you, love."

Hermione sniffed, the mug of chocolate warming her hands comfortingly. "But we've been together for three and a half years. Why is it so suddenly?"

Mrs. Granger chose her words carefully. "You've been living in peaceful times, Hermione. It's always easy to be happy when there's nothing to disagree on."

Hermione thought over this for a moment, her brow furrowed.

"Why didn't you tell Ron you were going to this colleague's house?"

"I suppose… because I knew he wouldn't like it, that he would overreact. He's always hated Malfoy."

It hit Hermione suddenly that she'd always known in the back of her mind that there was a possibility Ron might leave if she'd told him. When then, did she still continue to go see Malfoy? Was she stuck on some redemption kick? It wasn't her responsibility to redeem Malfoy... was she trying to fix _herself_?

"But you went anyway," Mrs. Granger pointed out.

"But what does that _mean_?"

Her mother crossed her arms over her chest and looked her grown-up daughter in the eye as she replied, "Maybe it means you've outgrown your Mr. Weasley."

Hermione was stunned into absolute silence. Her mother had met Ron numerous times and her parents had both approved of him. The Weasleys were already like family to her. She'd imagined – for years – growing old with Ron, giving him children, sending those children to Hogwarts, eventually grandchildren…

But just like that, the future crumbled into dust before her eyes and disappeared.

Hermione sniffed and began to cry. She liked order and consistency. She took comfort in knowing the answer. The unknown in an uncontrolled environment was scary and vague. Her mother comforted and held her like she was a child again, instead of a young woman almost twenty-two.

"Wh-What do I do?" Hermione stammered between sniffles.

"Whatever your heart tells you, my love," whispered Mrs. Granger, tucking a stray lock of her daughter's hair behind her ear lovingly. "But don't make any decisions while you're upset. You've got to find peace with yourself and think critically. You've always been good at that."

Hermione nodded, sitting up. She glanced at the clock and realized it was about time for her to get to work. Wiping her eyes and putting on a brave face, she said gratefully, "Thanks for the chocolate and sympathy, Mum."

"I am _always_ on your side, love."

"I know."

The two women embraced and Hermione bid both her parents good-bye before Disapparating from the kitchen.

The Grangers stared at the spot where their daughter had disappeared before their eyes with a small 'pop'.

"I'll never get used to her doing that," Mr. Granger admitted to his wife.


	15. Surprises

Author's Note: I'm trying to keep moving right along here. I've got most of the rest of the story all mapped out. Are fanfics usually this soul-consuming? Thank you very, very much to K. E. Degz and iwasbotwp for your reviews. They are lovely and make me very happy.

.

.

"You're a right git, you know that?"

Ron looked glumly at his document-strewn desk at the Auror office, "I know."

"What the bloody hell did you do that to Hermione for?" Harry demanded.

"What was she seeing Malfoy for?" Ron countered.

"She told you it was work-related. You don't seriously think she was seeing him because she's suddenly abandoned all reason and become attracted to him? It's _Malfoy_."

Ron sighed. "I don't know what to think anymore. She's been so distant lately and then this…"

"Stop being dramatic," Harry snapped irritably. "This is Hermione we're talking about."

Ron grew angry and glared at his friend, "She should have told me. She shouldn't have tried to keep it a secret that she was travelling internationally to see someone who was not only a confirmed Death Eater, but someone who bullied her from the moment she set foot into Hogwarts…"

"So you _walk out on her_? I'm sorry, Ron, you're my best mate, but leaving Hermione - your girlfriend - crying outside the Burrow because you can't even hear her out was not the best way to leave things with her."

"I made it worse," Ron groaned, thinking about the kiss afterward with Gabrielle.

"I'll say you did."

"You don't even know the half of it…"

The whole story came pouring out, beginning with Ron being summoned into Robards's office, visiting Bill for advice, seeing Gabrielle, the argument with Hermione, and ended with Ron seizing the opportunity to get revenge by kissing Gabrielle.

Harry was silent during the entire exchange, his green eyes boring into his friend's blues. Finally, when Ron was finished, Harry said stonily, "I don't even know what to do with this information."

"Please don't tell Hermione," Ron pleaded.

"So you want to make her feel like a bad person because she visited Malfoy a handful of times for something work-related when you _know_ how important the house elf liberation thing is to her… but you don't want her to know you've gone and snogged someone behind her back?"

"I'll tell her myself."

"Good, you had better do it today because if you don't, I will personally make sure she finds out. She deserves better than to be treated that way."

Ron knew Harry was right, but hated his friend at that moment for saying what he needed to hear. "I'll do it first thing after work today," he promised. Then he swallowed hard, "You'd better reserve me a room at St. Mungo's because you know how she is when she's angry."

.

.

When Hermione felt her feet hit the receiving fireplace at Malfoy Manor, she froze. The hall was just as she remembered it, a powerful combination of ancient and indomitable. There was more ambient light than she recalled from her brief stint there, and she was able to notice small details that had eluded her before.

The ceiling was frescoed with various scenes painted against the night sky. Upon closer examination, it seemed to be a sky full of constellations, most of which took their intended form. She recognized Capricorn the goat and what might be Andromeda and Casseopeia, among numerous others.

Hermione noticed how very grand everything was, how ostentatious…. how very Malfoy. Terrazza Mosaico in Italy had been showy, tasteful and quite obviously the residence of one of the world's more affluent. Malfoy Manor embodied power, wealth and a timelessness of both those attributes.

Hermione didn't have time to register many of these thoughts; her eyes were rooted to the spot on the floor where Bellatrix had tortured her. She clutched at her forearm where the 'Mudblood' scar began to throb with memory.

"Is there a reason you're standing in the fireplace, Granger?"

Draco's voice snapped Hermione back to the present and she cast him a quick smile that looked more like a grimace, before stepping into the hall.

"I finished your book," he stated.

Hermione was genuinely astonished, especially after the stink he'd given her about a week not being enough time to read an entire novel, and it had been less than that. "What did you think?"

He led her down the hall, away from the memory of Bellatrix's evil, for which she was grateful.

"I think only you could possibly have picked out something that was both didactic in its portrayal of the wages of sin… and stunningly immoral and narcissistic at the same time."

Hermione frowned, "You almost sound as if you reverence the stunningly immoral and narcissistic."

"It's a brilliant spell really, whichever one it was that made Gray eternally young while the portrait took on all the evil."

Hermione didn't correct him about the spell (as it was a Muggle novel) but grew more concerned at how highly Malfoy regarded the entire circumstance. "You're supposed to hate Dorian Gray."

"I don't tend to hate people whose bad side I wouldn't want to get on."

Hermione couldn't argue the logic in this, despite her moral objections to the rest of his speech.

Draco stopped in front of the library door, "Close your eyes."

Hermione stared. "What?"

"Close your eyes."

"Why?" she queried suspiciously.

"It's a surprise."

She gave him an incredulous look, but also a searching one. "I'm not sure I'm interested in any surprises from you, Malfoy."

"It's one you'll like," he promised.

"I don't think so."

"Must you always be so difficult?"

"When it concerns you, yes."

"Then you finally admit that you're prejudiced?" Draco concluded triumphantly.

Hermione folded her arms. "I don't trust you."

"That's probably a wise decision."

"Why are we standing outside this door?" she questioned.

"That's the surprise."

She stomped her foot, curiosity getting the better of her. "Fine."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, but Draco noticed her wand was ready in her sleeve, just in case. He smirked; she was smart, no one could deny that. He wondered if she already had an exit strategy planned for herself just in case things went sideways… but he had no plans to harm her. He'd come to enjoy the witch's regular visits, though he knew he wouldn't tell her that.

With her eyes closed, he had a brief opportunity to appraise the young woman that stood before him. She'd pulled her hair back again into a low bun, which Draco supposed was more to contain its volume (which was considerable, he remembered) rather than a stylistic choice. A few stray curls had come loose and were tucked neatly behind her ears. She didn't appear to bother making herself up with cosmetics, but she had very long eyelashes.

Her clothing choices were _dreadful_ , Draco decided. Far too plain and conservative… and downright frumpy. Somewhere under the shapeless blouse and cuttingly professional tweed skirt, she must have some sort of figure. He noticed the beauty marks on her collarbone again, trailing below her neckline. Why did they draw his attention so easily?

He recalled the moment, weeks ago now, that he'd masturbated in bed. The image of Granger bending toward him, red-faced and angry, her top shifting in such a way to offer something like a peek of forbidden skin… had supplanted itself into his head right as he came.

She wasn't what he would consider to be a desirable woman. Yet she'd pushed him over the edge. Draco was again glad that no one knew his thoughts at that moment.

"Malfoy?" Hermione queried, eyes still shut.

"Okay," he breathed, trying to calm himself and put himself to the task at hand.

He twisted the knob of the library door and it opened inward, revealing its precious contents. _Granger is going to have a coronary._ He'd decided yesterday that, knowing her fondness for books, she should be surprised by the library.

He tried not to think too much about what his intentions were by doing that.

Draco put his hand on her shoulder and felt her stiffen under his touch, her wand hand twitching. Helping to steer her forward, he said quietly, "Just take about five or six steps right in front of you."

She did so, but tentatively. She didn't trust him, as she'd freely admitted. "Can I open my eyes now?"

"Yes."

The long lashes fluttered upward and her eyes drank in the sight of the library. Draco heard a small intake of breath and her head swiveled around faster than an owl's to take in everything she could.

"You can pick one."

Hermione rounded on him, "What?"

"Pick one," he repeated, smirking at her incredulity. "I don't even know all of what's in here, so make it good. I'm sure there are plenty of books in here we can read and then disagree about."

Hermione wandered around the library, which extended further than she'd even thought at first, taking note of certain titles and making observations about collections. Draco watched her with amusement as he settled himself in one of the overstuffed armchairs by the window. Occasionally she ran a hand over a volume like a caress, or sometimes she would notice a certain book and make a tittering noise. There were a few volumes she took note of and hissed in disgust. Draco could easily guess what those books were about, considering his great-grandfather's radical pureblood mania. The man had made Lucius seem like a kitten.

Finally, she returned to where Draco was sitting, actually breathless and her eyes glittering. "This is a very impressive collection."

"It's the work of countless generations. It should be."

"I don't think I would ever leave if I had a library like this."

Draco snorted, "I bet you wouldn't. They'd have to bring your meals here."

She didn't even bother to argue with him. "I don't think I can pick only one. There are too many choices, I have to think about it."

Draco rolled his eyes, but refrained from making a comment, which Hermione took note of with a degree of surprise.

"If I were to say the word 'liminality' to you, Granger, what would you take that to mean?"

Hermione frowned, but was beginning to get used to Malfoy changing the subject abruptly to discuss vague concepts. It had been justice and morality before. It wasn't wholly surprising he'd now decided to question something even more difficult to grasp on to.

"Liminality is…" she struggled with her words to come up with a good definition, "the threshold of the space in-between… like how the place where the sea meets land is neither wholly water nor wholly earth. It's liminal space."

Draco seemed to be pondering this deeply and she thought dryly it was probably the most thought he'd even given to anything she'd ever said.

Distractedly he muttered, "Is it ancient in nature?"

Hermione was really confused now. "I'm sorry, but what?"

"The soul. Is it ancient in nature?"

Hermione stared at him wondering if he'd really, finally gone mad. He didn't seem mad, but perhaps he kept it well hidden. "I suppose it must be," she answered critically. "Dementors were first used by the government in 1718 when Damocles Rowle insisted on establishing Azkaban as a prison. They'd been prowling the island for at _least_ a thousand years prior to that, and as a Dementor's primary source for nourishment involves weakening and draining the soul, it can only be assumed that souls have existed at least as long as Dementors…

"Furthermore," Hermione continued now that she was on a roll, "there is evidence, if not actual proof, in ancient Egyptian scrolls of the existence of the soul. It seems to be the first place they are openly mentioned… unless you account for…"

"Merlin's left testicle," Draco swore, though he was secretly impressed. "You sound like you swallowed a textbook."

.

.

Ron Floo'd to Hermione's flat that evening, his words already carefully chosen, to inform her of his indiscretion and to beg her forgiveness.

Well, not beg. But close.

She hadn't been home. _Perhaps she's working late_ , he reasoned.

He Floo'd to her office, but found only Toula buried in a stack of paperwork. The Greek woman looked up at Ron's approach, and suddenly looked like a mouse cornered by a hungry tom.

"Er, hey Toula… is Hermione around? I went to her flat but she wasn't here, so I thought maybe she was working late?"

Toula laughed nervously. She knew Hermione and Ron had gotten into a row, but her friend hadn't told her what about. "No, she left right on time today. I think it was her day to see Draco."

Ron turned an impressive shade of purple.


	16. Things Fall Apart

Author's Note: This is a transition chapter with a little bit of fluff... finally. Thank you to i was BOTWP and K. E. Degz for your reviews. As always, I love to hear people's reactions about things I've written. Criticism is also accepted, though I can't say I love it. Also note, we are about to wade in waist-deep into the Dramione. Enjoy.

.

.

"Well, Fleur officially had her baby," Ginny announced, flopping ungracefully into the empty seat by Hermione while Siobhan claimed the seat on the other side of her. "It's a girl. They've named her Dominique."

"Babies are so sweet," Toula sighed longingly from Hermione's other side, as she absentmindedly mixed her drink with the decorative stirrer. The four young women liked to try to meet at least once monthly at the Three Broomsticks for a social tryst.

"Harry coming 'round tonight?" Siobhan queried. There was a tangible awkwardness to the absence of Ron's name in the question. Hermione bristled slightly.

"No," Ginny answered. "He and Ron are doing a boys' night."

The end of their relationship hadn't been what Hermione expected from Ron. He had been relatively calm, though his face had been mottled red, which betrayed that he wasn't as mild as he was pretending. He'd admitted that he had feelings for someone else and that he had kissed her. Ron had claimed this was what hastened along an end they _both_ had a feeling might be coming…

Hermione felt betrayed, unsure when he would have had the time to take up with someone else. The manner in which he had stormed out on her made more sense now, and lessened some of her regret. But in the back of her mind – if she really thought about it – she'd expected herself to be the one to leave. Getting dumped by Ron stung.

"I still feel like an idiot about that whole situation," Toula admitted, casting a guilty look at Hermione. "I should have kept my big, fat mouth shut when he asked where you were."

"Don't feel that way," Hermione staunchly disagreed. "I wasn't trying to hide anything. I think the end had been coming on for awhile now. We were getting more distant from one another and this… misunderstanding was just the necessary push."

"What happened?" Siobhan queried, feeling somewhat out of the loop.

""My idiot brother was under the impression that Hermione was knee-deep in the process of leaving him for Draco Malfoy," Ginny explained to her friend.

"And, well… things got a bit unreasonable. We broke up," Hermione finished.

"Are you doing okay?"

Hermione shrugged, "It's sad, of course. We'd been together for years and he was one of my best friends throughout all of Hogwarts. Not to mention everything that happened during the War…"

"He was an idiot to act that way, Hermione," Ginny insisted. The redhead wrinkled her nose in disgust, "Especially taking up with Fleur's little sister right afterward."

 _So it was Fleur's sister… he always did have a weakness for_ _veela_ , Hermione thought grimly.

Outwardly she merely said, "Thanks, Ginny."

Siobhan sipped the ale the bartender had dropped off for her before asking curiously, "So… _did_ you leave Ron for Draco Malfoy?"

Ginny snorted into her mug.

"I do enjoy his company," Hermione admitted quickly, "it's nice to have an intellectually stimulating conversation with someone, even if we disagree on everything. But I don't trust him and he has these bouts of melancholy that seem to arise from nowhere."

"Not to mention, he's a ponce," Ginny added.

"That wasn't a 'no' though," Siobhan pointed out.

Hermione smiled, "No, I did _not_ leave Ron for Malfoy. In fact, Ron was definitely the one who did the leaving."

Toula looked thoughtful, "You have been going to Draco's a couple times a week… still just to work on your house elf law?"

"He's arranged for me to have a luncheon later this week with an Italian lawmaker who managed to pass a law like the one I'm trying to write." The answer seemed to satisfy the others, and Hermione was grateful because when she thought about it, they'd only mentioned the law proposal to one another twice in all, and that, in passing.

"I don't understand why he's helping you with this." Ginny's brow had furrowed.

"I think he's trying to make amends for things he's done in the past," Hermione responded. In truth, she had stayed awake late into the night on more than one occasion, wondering the same thing.

"So, Ginny," Siobhan began, changing the subject, "your wedding. You've got a month and a half before the big day. Is there anything we can do to help?"

.

.

The next few weeks passed in relative quiescence. Hermione did not see or hear from Ron following their split, though Harry seemed to be making a conscientious effort to show his support of her in their fall-out. Hermione was grateful for him.

She continued to meet Draco after work on some days, and he seemed to be asking her there more and more often. Instead of twice weekly, she started going three times a week. He would get impatient if she were later than usual, berating her for her tardiness, which she simply shrugged off with a small smile.

She was getting used to him.

Draco also kept his word about setting up a meeting for her and the Italian lawmaker. She became acquainted with Signore Matteo Abruzzese over lunch the following week. He was a fossil of an old man, barely five feet tall, with wrinkled, brown skin. He had spectacles so thick they looked like goggles and – thankfully, Hermione thought – spoke very good English.

Signore Abruzzese was passionate about the intricacies of the web of the law, which he liked to twist for what he perceived to be the best common interest. Hermione found herself often agreeing with the eccentric Italian grandfather, and they talked long past her lunch break, not only about the law, but quite a bit about ballroom dancing. It was his other passion; he and his wife danced often. They often threw balls at their home, or else their fellow socialites did.

Hermione amused herself by picturing Signore Abruzzese whirling around a dance floor with an equally-little and equally-ancient woman, with vigor.

The Signore seemed to like Hermione as much as she admired him. They agreed to meet again.

The following day, when Hermione arrived at the Manor library and settled into her seat, Draco asked, "Well, did the Signore fulfill all your expectations?"

Her shining eyes had answered him and he felt a stirring in his chest that he couldn't explain. "Yes," she replied. "Thank you for setting up that meeting. I believe he is a kindred spirit. He agreed to help me draft the actual document; I would never have hoped for so much! But he returns to Italy next week and won't have time until…"

"Set a time to meet him at Terrazza Mosaico," Draco had interrupted with a wave of his hand. "It'll be easier for everyone."

He took out his drawing pad and began to settle into his usual chair. Hermione had stared in disbelief for a moment.

"Granger, stop staring at me. It's unsettling."

"I could hug you, Malfoy." Words she never thought she'd say.

"I think it would be best, if you refrained."

She had and they'd gone about business as usual. When she left, Draco felt a strange emptiness that he'd refused the gesture, though he wouldn't admit it to himself.

.

.

On the first Sunday night after her break-up, Hermione spent the evening lying on her back in her wheat field. She tried not to think about the fact that Harry, Ron and Ginny were all enjoying Mrs. Weasley's Sunday cooking, without her. She didn't eat at all that evening, instead occupying her mind by looking for constellations in the night sky and reviewing the names of the moons that revolved around Jupiter or Neptune…

She spent her twenty-second birthday with her parents for a change. It was quiet and lovely.

That morning there had been a small vase of peonies on her desk at work, without a note. Toula thought the flowers must have come from Ron.

"Perhaps he's regretting his choice now," Toula had suggested, "but isn't ready to admit he was wrong. Maybe that's why there's no note."

But Hermione knew Ron well, and she was also quite sure they weren't from him.

.

.

Hermione was very aware that something was changing in her relationship with Malfoy. They spent the hours the sun went down in one another's company. He was (mostly) courteous toward her. One of them would pick a book from the shelves of the Malfoy library and Hermione would read it aloud. Sometimes she brought a book of her own.

They had moved completely out of the realm of philosophy, not even adhering to the pretence of study. She read to him from Gulliver's Travels, One Thousand and One Nights, and – a surprising favorite of his – 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. He wouldn't tell her what specifically he liked about it, but it was the most alive she had seen him before.

…And Hermione noticed, when he was alight with interest, he was really quite handsome.

Finally, she began to see what Lavender and Parvati had first noticed back in fifth year, as they'd gossiped in their shared dormitory. Malfoy was tall, with mercurial gray eyes. He radiated a sense of ease and self-aware aristocracy. His skin was smooth and pale but somehow still very masculine, defined by hard angles, especially his jawline. He dressed well.

Hermione began to read him poetry that she loved… and he would draw. Oftentimes he drew one of the dogs, which had integrated themselves into their ritual. Sometimes he would sketch something from one of the books she read.

.

.

October began and Hermione was glad to go the Manor instead of Ginny's house for hectic, last-minute wedding planning. A blazing fireplace was now necessary, as the weather had begun to change.

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;  
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;  
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;  
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity…"*

"Don't," Draco interrupted her.

Hermione looked up from the poem. He'd never stopped her before. "What's wrong?"

His hand was shaking over the parchment he'd been sketching on. "It's… I can't…"

"Malfoy?" Hermione said tentatively.

She always sat several paces away from him; a couple months didn't erase years of mistrust. She chewed her lip and crossed the carpet, placing her hand on his shoulder. His warmth radiated through her being in a pleasing way. "I'm sorry. I should have picked something more appropriate to read."

He bit out a short, harsh laugh, "'Things fall apart'… what could be _more_ appropriate?"

"I understand," she said quietly.

He was silent a moment, but she noticed he'd stopped shaking.

"That's why I love books so much," she explained. "Knowledge... is… no one can take it away from you. Loss is difficult. People come and go from your life so easily. Even Ron…"

Hermione stopped, a lump formed in her throat. She didn't regret that Ron had left, but she did regret the loss of his friendship. They'd grown up together. He'd taken her maidenhood, and it had been blissful and beautiful in its own way, even if it had hurt at first. The way he'd left her had tainted those memories with a sense of loss she couldn't shake.

"He left you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

She nodded, "Yes. I don't regret that it's over, but my memories are... tarnished."

Draco nodded. "My memories are blood red. I can't help but feel my future is stained with the same blood. Things fall apart, indeed."

Hermione frowned, "Your future is malleable. You have to believe it can be a good one."

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. "Astoria will make a good wife, for a Malfoy. She is tolerant and she's not tainted with memories of bloodshed and torture." Hermione didn't often hear Draco speak of Astoria. She got the impression Draco cared for her a good deal, but didn't know her very well. "It was one of my father's last wishes that I marry her… and it will happen next summer, after she turns nineteen. It's the typical age for purebloods to marry when it's pre-arranged."

"She seems to make you happy."

He opened his eyes and stared at the carpet as if it held all the answers. "She… does. I don't know her well. I barely see her weekly and we are always chaperoned. I've been conditioned since a young age to expect an arranged marriage."

Hermione's mind was racing and she refused to move her hand from Draco's shoulder, enjoying his warmth. He didn't seem to be in a hurry for her to remove it, either. She liked meeting him, reading to him, watching him draw, hearing his thoughts. They engaged their minds with one another. She didn't want their arrangement to end, as it certainly would have to if he married.

 _If this can't move forward, please at least don't let it go backward…_

The unbidden thought startled her and she pushed it away before she had time to grasp its implications. "I don't think I could be in an arranged marriage," she stated.

"There was a time I thought that, too. But my parents were arranged… my grandparents… and every Malfoy for countless generations. I have a tradition to uphold and expectations to fulfill."

Even as he said it, his father's voice whispered in his mind. _Question everything, Draco_ …

.

.

* "The Second Coming" by W.B. Yeats


	17. Wine on the Other End

Author's Note: This chapter is... well... terribly banal. Sorry about that. I couldn't help myself. I am a fangirl at the end of the day. Thank you i was BOTWP for your review, your thoughts often make me rethink certain parts of this story.

.

.

Hermione met with Signore Abruzzese at Terrazza Mosaico the following Friday, as Draco had suggested. The three of them enjoyed dinner, then retreated to a spacious sitting room with a grand view of the Mediterranean that Draco reserved specifically for good company. After all, Signore Abruzzese was not merely a famous Italian lawyer, but a longstanding fashionable socialite. It was in his best interest to impress the man, even if he was eccentric.

Draco occupied himself with work of his own while Hermione and Abruzzese put together the beginnings of her legal proposal. They finished a handful of hours later, and Hermione was positively radiant with joy.

Signore Abruzzese was quite taken with Granger, Draco observed. They really did seem to be like kindred spirits. He was often asking her opinion on things, which she was more than ready to give. They agreed on most things.

"Tomorrow night, my wife has planned for a gathering at our home," the Signore was telling Hermione. His wispy grey hair was stuck up in the front, where the long feather of his ostentatious quill had mussed it as they'd worked out the kinks in her document. "There will be dancing – you know I am an avid dancer – but also plenty of people to meet. International people: famous singers, historians, Quidditch players, magical naturalists… all kinds. I invite you and beseech you both to attend."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise. "That's very kind of you."

Draco's head lifted from his work, smug: the extra attention to Abruzzese had paid off. "Your parties are the stuff of socialite legend," he complimented

The Signore looked pleased with the praise, "I will expect you both. There will be plenty of dancing, you understand."

"Oh, but I don't have a date," Hermione bemoaned sadly.

Signore Abruzzese looked surprised. "Am I mistaken that the two of you are intended for one another?"

Hermione turned scarlet and quickly clarified, "Oh, no, no, no, no."

"I have a fiancée back in England," Draco explained, his cheeks pink.

"Ah, _perdonami_. I did not mean to give offense." To Draco, the Signore said, "Your lady is welcome, too. I must have you there, for introducing me to this excellent young woman and for allowing us to use your beautiful home. You are a good friend to Miss Granger."

Draco inclined his head, silently amused that Granger had been bestowed upon him as a friend.

Hermione beamed at Draco and said to the Signore, "Yes, he is."

Draco returned to his book, his face flushed with her praise. Even in his own mind, he couldn't decide if he were more pleased or embarrassed that she considered him a friend.

To Hermione, the Signore added, "Perhaps my grandson will interest you, I shall introduce you to him. But please, bring a friend, if you choose."

The parchment with their scribblings was rolled up, and the Signore said his good-byes. Hermione was thoughtful and asked Draco what kind of outfit she would be expected to wear to a socialite gathering.

He shrugged, "Something nice, but you don't need to wear a full-length gown or anything."

Hermione thanked him, then got ready to Floo home. "See you tomorrow night, I suppose – and Astoria, too."

His gray eyes met hers. "She's been wanting to meet you."

Hermione's smile didn't quite meet her eyes.

.

.

Katherine Granger had insisted on going dress shopping with her daughter, and had enjoyed it immensely. The two women had vastly different styles, but Mrs. Granger reveled in the time spent with her daughter. Her daughter might belong to a very different world from herself, but a semi-formal party was something she understood perfectly well.

The resulting purchase was a high-necked, sleeveless dress that flared out at the waist and extended just past Hermione's knees. It was a brown-bronze color, covered in intricate, golden-threaded designs. Mrs. Granger had insisted it brought out her eyes and her figure. Even though it wasn't something Hermione would have bought herself, she purchased the dress anyway and her mother beamed.

Once the necessary frock had been purchased, Hermione Floo'd to Grimmauld Place to ask Ginny to be her date for the evening, as Signore Abruzzese had said she could bring someone. Ginny was a good friend to have at parties, always making sure Hermione had more fun than she'd anticipated having, but not _too_ much. She hoped Ginny would look forward to the excuse to be distracted from anything wedding-related, as she was beginning to go stir-crazy in the two weeks that remained before she became Mrs. Potter.

Harry and Ginny had really done wonders with Grimmauld Place, as had Kreacher when they'd convinced him they were in earnest about making the place sparkle like a new galleon.

Gone were the days of musty, dank hallways lit half-heartedly by dust-laden gas lamps. Gone was nearly all the original imposing furniture, replaced by cheerful, eclectic pieces. The sitting room felt like the Gryffindor Common Room often had, full of crimson armchairs and a roaring fire. When confronted with Mrs. Black's screaming portrait, stuck to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm, Ginny had merely blasted the entire section of wall from the rest and banished the portrait to the attic. It really opened up the floor plan nicely.

Ginny was happy for Hermione that she'd been invited to the party of a legendary socialite, was intrigued by her invitation, but sighed resignedly when she cast a look around the sitting room, covered in wedding arrangements.

"I just can't," she admitted. "I never knew how much trouble went into planning a stupid wedding – even a small one! I waited too long to do too many things. I'm sorry, Hermione. It sounds like a really fun time..."

Hermione was disappointed, until Harry offered, "I'll go with you. We never got to go to Slughorn's Christmas Party together, remember?"

"Harry, I would _love_ for you to come with me!" she exclaimed. With a lopsided smile, she added, "You'll be a much better date than McClaggen was."

The three laughed as they recalled the fiasco that had ensued when Hermione had invited McClaggen to go with her to the party, just to annoy Ron.

"That's a great idea," Ginny beamed. "I think you need a night out, Harry… and you can prevent Hermione from indulging in complete debauchery. Only a _little_ debauchery, you understand…"

Hermione protested her friend's suggestion, but was beyond pleased that she would have Harry by her side for the evening. "Thanks, Harry, I'd hate to go alone. There will be tons of people there from different countries. I heard a descendant of the last Prince of Navarre will be there, as well as a world-famous magizoologist."

"Sounds like a good time."

"I'll make sure he combs his hair," Ginny promised.

.

.

The next day, Saturday, was the day of the party and Crookshanks woke Hermione early, concerned about his breakfast.

Hermione knew plenty of spells by now to tame her wild, bushy hair. She couldn't be bothered to perform them on most days, preferring to simply pull it all back into a knot. Today was an exception, and a series of easy spells achieved gentle curls that cascaded down her back in loose ringlets.

Having achieved that, she went to work re-writing an initial draft for her house elf liberation proposal. She planned to submit it to Trimble for review on Monday. The copy she and Signore Abruzzese had put together was very messy, covered in his scribbles, and she wanted to offer an immaculate piece of parchment to her boss.

Once that was finished, she practiced the violin her parents had insisted she learn as a youngster. She wasn't truly proficient, but she had some talent and she enjoyed the ease with which her fingers danced across the strings. Following that, she read a book.

Hermione wasn't sure exactly what she was expecting by going to an Italian socialite's gathering. She would have the exquisite opportunity to be introduced to many important people from other countries, which could easily further her career into something truly great. When the time finally came, she decorated herself tastefully with understated gold jewelry.

She was glad her dress was elegant and reserved, the neckline high. Her only regret was the faded scar of the ugly slur carved into her arm. It was made obvious by the absence of sleeves on her dress.

She had been ready for some time when Harry arrived at her flat. Hermione noticed Ginny had indeed attempted to comb his hair, for the small amount of good it had done. Still, he was dressed nicely in a button down shirt, a tie, and slacks. He'd traded his thick, round glasses years ago for a new pair of thin, square ones. They brought out his eyes nicely.

She got an unexpected response from him, "Wow, Hermione… you look amazing."

"You look great, too. I'm glad you could come with me."

" _I'm_ glad I could go with you. You'll be getting all the attention for a change. It'll be nice."

She laughed wholeheartedly. Her ensemble had really come together. Her simple jewelry paired with the gold designs on her dress, brought out a bit of a honey hue in her dark hair, which had mercifully remained sleek hours after the spells.

"Signore Abruzzese has arranged for us to travel by Floo directly from here into his own home," Hermione explained. "So get ready for the horrid unpleasantness that is international Floo travel… and hope they have wine on the other end."

.

.

They did have wine on the other end. Hermione gratefully accepted a glass, feeling better after a sip.

"Tergeo." She cleaned the minimal amount of residual soot off both hers and Harry's outfits. Then, noticing Harry looked a tad green from the prolonged Floo travel, she handed him one of the glasses of wine. "Drink it, you'll feel better."

Signore Abruzzese swooped down on the pair almost immediately. The old man looked ecstatic to see her there. "Miss Hermione… you are positively radiant, child," he praised. "Brought someone after all, I see."

"Yes, sir. This is my friend, Harry Potter."

As was the custom when people heard Harry's name, the Signore became very excited and seized Harry's hand at once. "It is my honor to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter! I had no idea you were good friends with this brilliant young woman. Of course, your defeat of the Dark One is the stuff of legend, even here in Italy…"

"Thank you, sir. I couldn't have done any of that without Hermione."

Hermione beamed at Harry.

Ancient little Signore Abruzzese was practically bouncing on his heels, not looking very dignified as he did so, but also completely oblivious to that fact. He seemed greatly contented with the pair of them and disclaimed, "I must show the both of you off. Come, come…"

He did do that. They met politicians, international Quidditch players, the infamous descendant of the last Prince of Navarre, famous authors, historians. They even made the acquaintance of the current proprietor of the Romanian dragon sanctuary that Charlie Weasley worked at (this man smelled a bit like sulphur, they noticed), and Rolf Scamander, a magical naturalist and the grandson of the famous magizoologist, Newt Scamander – and his girlfriend, who was none other than Luna Lovegood.

"Hello Harry, Hermione," Luna said pleasantly, as if they'd had a prearranged meeting for tea. "Lovely party, isn't it?"

"Hello, Luna," Harry laughed, grateful to see someone else he knew besides Hermione, even if Luna was wearing something layered, crinkled and silvery that made her look like a sparkler.

When the Signore had finished showing them off – which he had done thoroughly – Hermione and Harry met back up with Luna and Rolf, who informed them all about their travels in Norway they were returning from. Hermione had a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she pleasantly asked Luna who was looking after her greenhouse while she had been in Norway. She thought of Archibald Mudgett and his constant badgering of her boss regarding Luna's interesting herbology experimentations on her property.

"Oh, Daddy is there," answered Luna serenely. "It was his idea to build the greenhouse in the first place, you know. To keep the dirigible plums from floating off…"

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw him. Or rather, saw _them_ and she completely lost track of what Luna was saying.

Malfoy had entered the room and been assailed at once by an innovative Irish inventor Hermione and Harry had just been introduced to not half an hour ago. By Malfoy's side was a petite young woman Hermione could only assume was his intended bride.

Astoria was truly beautiful: she had graceful, almost feline features, creamy skin and clear, blue eyes. She was short, but dainty and decked out in flashy, expensive jewelry that were made somehow less conspicuous by the form-hugging black dress that made her the object of several men's gazes. She looked immaculate, her hair half-up with the rest hanging down her back in the kind of easy, natural waves Hermione only wished she could achieve.

Draco was also exceptionally handsome tonight. He radiated a sense of self-assuredness, his arm tucked around Astoria's waist as he responded to something the inventor had said. He seemed to be introducing his fiancée…

Hermione looked away, her good mood deflated.

She hadn't noticed she'd been staring until Harry tapped her on the shoulder. Luna and Rolf had begun debating the properties of Formatogoria amongst themselves.

"You were staring, Hermione."

Hermione blushed, turning to her friend, "Sorry."

"Are you two friends now?" Harry queried, glancing for a moment at Malfoy across the room.

"I… don't know. It's a strange arrangement. I suppose so, yes."

"Just be careful with him," Harry admonished. "You don't want to get too close to a man with a target on his back. Any man, even as friends."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "You mean like I did with you?"

Harry cast her a crooked grim. "I wouldn't have traded you for anything; I didn't deserve your friendship. But, well… just be careful."

They were interrupted by a familiar voice uttering, "Herm-own-ninny?"

Hermione stiffened at the pronunciation of her name, turning slowly. There was only one person in the world that called her that…

"Viktor!" she exclaimed in delight, her suspicion confirmed. "What are you doing here?"

Viktor Krum stood before her, much as she remembered him. He was tall and thin but muscular from playing professional Quidditch, with a large, curved nose and dark hair with a small beard.

His dark eyes gleamed upon seeing Hermione, a smile on his face, taking her in, "I thought it vos you. I had to be sure."

"Signore Abruzzese has been helping me write a new law I hope to propose to the Ministry in England. He invited me only yesterday," she explained breathlessly. "It's so good to see you."

"And you." He turned to Harry, "It is a long time since I haff seen you, Potter."

"It's excellent to see you," Harry returned, shaking his former Triwizard competitor's hand. "Hermione asked me here as her plus one."

The two men exchanged quick looks, in which Krum asked Harry permission and Harry granted it. Viktor turned back to Hermione and asked, "Vould you vant to dance?"

She took his offered hand and smiled, "Just like old times."

"Yes – but ve are both older now," he observed, leading her away from Harry to the center of the floor where other couples were beginning to gather.


	18. The Malfoy Situation

Author's Note: Okay, the last chapter and this one have been a lot longer than the usual. I actually wrote the whole scene as one, but it was a bit unmanageable that way, so here we have it in two parts. Thank you to K. E. Degz and i was BOTWP for your reviews. I'm glad you guys like Viktor as much as I do. I have a soft spot for him.

.

.

Draco was no stranger to social gatherings of any sort. Part of his job as the representative chair for the Department of Magical Secrecy was to attend functions like this one. He would go to determine who he could stick in his pocket, who could be bought with money, and who needed to be removed from the path forward.

He had to admit, Abruzzese's gathering was certainly one of the best he'd ever attended. The man had referred to the mansion as his home – and it was spectacularly cared for, clearly beloved. The hall the guests gathered in was enormous. The entire south wall was made up of windows, including some made of panes of Murano glass in varying colors. These threw interesting fractals of light onto various spots in the room.

An orchestra was assembled for entertainment and the hall was clearly designed with the ideal acoustics in mind. From the chandeliers on the ceiling hung strands of fairy lights that lent the place a magical glow.

Off of the center hall where couples were beginning to gather for dancing, Draco noticed there were several more antechambers were guests had clustered themselves. A hazy quality about the far room indicated there were men inside, smoking cigars that emitted a dense, blue smoke. Another room contained a number of matronly Italian women, all of whom seemed to be clucking loudly with gossip.

The guest list was, of course, superb. Draco had been cognizant for some time that Signore Matteo Abruzzese was well-known for his social gatherings, which almost always included a ball. The Signore also seemed to be keen on collecting prominent witches and wizards of a wide variety of talents. Some merely showed potential. Others were famous already.

"Are we going to dance?" Astoria whispered excitedly, gesturing toward the place where others were assembling.

"If you wish it, I can't refuse," he responded.

She smiled up at him and he led her to the floor, but not before another couple caught his eye.

It was Granger, though he had to do a double take to ensure it really was her. She'd done something exquisite with her hair, which was really quite long when it wasn't pulled back into a knot, or bushy about her shoulders. Draco also realized that his observation of her – weeks ago now – had been correct: when she wasn't dressed in something hideously frumpy, her figure was very good. Her skin looked soft, like velvet.

The only problem, was that her slender waist was enveloped by a large, rough hand and her bare shoulder was also occupied thus. He looked over to see who her partner was, and discovered none other than Viktor Krum, who was whispering things to her and smiling… and she was _laughing_.

He'd never heard her really laugh before without inhibition. He felt a strange sense of sadness settle into his stomach that it was something he had never shared with her, and likely never would.

The music began and Draco snapped to attention. His father had drilled it into him that his first duty when engaged in any sort of dancing, was to his partner. This was difficult when Granger and Krum were simultaneously engaged in making themselves agreeable to the other, so close by. He could hear parts of their conversation floating over occasionally.

"I belieef your boyfriend is a madman to allow you to dance vith other men," Krum was telling Granger as he spun her around.

"I don't have a boyfriend. I came here with Harry tonight, as friends," she responded coyly. "What would your girlfriend say if she knew you were talking to other women this way?"

Granger was _teasing_ Krum, Draco realized with awe. His world seemed like it'd been turned upside-down.

"I am recently divorced," he was explaining. "My marriage lasted just over a year, but she vos not in love vith me, caring only for money and fame…" The most disturbing, came next when Krum uttered, "You haff grown into a breathtaking woman…"

 _Stop, stop, stop_ , Draco had to remind himself.

There was _no reason_ for him to feel protective of Granger. There was _no reason at all_ for him to want to rip her out of the arms of the other man. There was _no reason_ for him to want to snarl at Krum that, yes, she _was_ breathtaking – but he should keep his hands and eyes _off_ her.

Well, there _was_ a reason, but Draco struggled to push it away, burying it deep into the recesses of his brain.

"Something on your mind?" Astoria queried softly, as she turned in his arms.

Draco did his best to pull his scattered thoughts together. "Not at all," he answered curtly.

He could hear them speaking in low voices. Krum was asking her questions about herself, and she about him. "Still playing for Bulgaria," she was saying to Krum with a smile. "Team Captain now, aren't you?"

Krum was nodding, "That promotion vos the highlight of my career. But I am thinking I will soon retire. I am 25 now, vitch is a good age to stop taking the bludgers to the head."

Draco was very thankful when the song was over.

Why hadn't she come over to him to at least say hello? Surely, she must have noticed him there by now.

"I must meet up vith my friend. I see he has just arrived. I hope you vill dance again vith me before the night is out?"

"I'd love that."

Krum bent down to kiss her hand, shot her a crooked smile, and walked off. Draco fumed silently to himself.

Hermione had enjoyed herself immensely in dancing with Viktor. She felt like her fifteen-year-old self again, dancing with the famous eighteen-year-old Quidditch star. She returned to Harry, who had watched the entire spectacle with great amusement.

"Well that didn't take long," Harry teased. "I see why Ginny wanted me to babysit you."

Hermione protested at this and they went to get some punch.

"Gotta be careful with this stuff," Harry observed, tapping his glass.

Hermione took a sip and agreed, it was quite strong.

"Do you want to dance?" she said suddenly. "I should have asked you first."

"You know I hate dancing," Harry answered with a pained look on his face. "But I'm not sure it matters – I think you're about to have another anyway." He gestured to where Signore Abruzzese was making his way over to them with a young man, who looked quite glum at being dragged about.

"Miss Granger - my grandson, Anthony. Anthony, this is the young English lawyer I told you about."

Anthony seemed to perk up upon seeing Hermione. "Ah, _molto bella._ Miss Granger, my grandfather desired me to meet you, but I had no idea he would be introducing me to a beautiful woman."

Harry choked into his glass and excused himself to rejoin Luna, who was standing alone.

"Shall we?"

Hermione wasn't used to all this attention. Unfortunately, Anthony was not as charming a partner as Viktor had been. He spoke mainly about himself and didn't seem interested in her at all beyond her appearance, which he complimented several times. He was a superb dancer, but Hermione found herself wishing she could be released quickly.

When it was finally over, she excused herself and went to find Harry, who had been humoring Luna on several different farfetched theories about heliopaths.

"Two dances in and you've already had two partners," Harry teased. "I never knew you were so popular."

"It's nice to feel admired, but that Anthony was such a bore. Viktor has always been wonderful."

"He hasn't taken his eyes off of you."

"Viktor?"

"No, Malfoy."

Hermione scanned the room for the familiar head of platinum blond and found him in a circle of debating politicians. He had indeed been looking at her.

When their eyes met, he knew he'd been caught. She gave a small wave and he smirked. Disentangling himself and Astoria from their group, they began to make their way over. Hermione felt Harry stiffen beside her.

"Be nice," she warned as she felt him bristle.

"I will if he does."

Draco and Astoria stopped in front of them. "Hermione Granger, I'd like you to meet Astoria Greengrass."

Hermione thought it was supremely weird to hear her first name come out of Malfoy's mouth. Harry apparently thought so too, because he cocked an eyebrow at Draco, then looked swiftly at Hermione.

"Pleased to meet you," Hermione said more warmly than she meant. "This is my friend, Harry Potter."

Astoria's eyes widened as she was introduced to Harry. "So it's true. The two of you brought about the defeat of the Dark Lord. You must be very brave."

After only five minutes of conversation with Astoria, Hermione was forced to admit that not only was Draco's fiancée beautiful, but also was rational, quick-witted and agreeable. Somehow she would have felt better if the young lady had been a snotty, arrogant harpy.

Greetings finally over, Hermione could tell Harry was getting anxious; he and Draco had not yet acknowledged one another beyond a slight nod of the head. She pulled her friend out onto the dance floor in order to set themselves free.

"I'm glad that's over," Hermione admitted, feeling waves of anxiety rolling off her.

"She's surprisingly balanced for someone who's willing to marry Malfoy," Harry observed scathingly.

Hermione giggled and Harry smiled. Despite his protests that he hated dancing, he found himself enjoying dancing with his friend. She didn't expect him to lead and seemed only interested in having fun. They discussed his upcoming wedding and Quidditch and Ron.

"Ron misses you," Harry told her levelly. "I don't think he'd ever admit he was wrong to walk out on you, and I'm not sure it ever was a brilliant match, but you were friends before you were ever together…"

"I miss him too," she admitted with a sigh. "He always made me laugh for every time he made me angry…"

"…And he would be absolutely boggled to see you all dressed up," Harry added, grinning.

Hermione spent much of the evening avoiding Anthony and talking to various people (the ones that spoke English). For several hours, she and Harry had the time of their lives. They even danced two more dances, despite that once word got out that Harry Potter was there, every woman between fifteen and fifty seemed to want to dance with him.

Hermione danced with a middle-aged French poet who kept trying to place his hand lower and lower on her waist until it rested on her buttocks. She put him in his place with a few choice words, abandoning him in the middle of the dance floor, and she and Harry had good fun bashing him for the rest of the evening and casting discreet spells on his glass of wine to make it taste like diluted bubotuber pus.

They were both somewhat intoxicated thanks to their consumption of the punch.

It was at this point in the night that Harry felt a tap on his shoulder and whirled around to come face-to-face with Malfoy.

"Mind if I cut in, Potter?"

Shocked, Harry could do nothing other than stare. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Will you?" he asked simply, offering a hand to Hermione. She looked around for Astoria, and as if sensing her thoughts, Draco supplied, "Astoria has met up with some of Abruzzese's granddaughters and they've taken off to do Merlin knows what. I thought I'd take a chance."

The corner of Hermione's mouth turned up and she took the offered hand. "Thank you."

She could feel Harry's eyes on them watching them as they made their way to the middle of the floor.

He was warm in her arms as she placed a hand on his shoulder and he grasped her other hand in his. She noticed how shyly he placed his other hand on her waist, as if she were fragile and would break. His heat radiated through her body from focal points where he touched her. She shivered, all mirth having receded in favor of quiet enjoyment. She had wanted to dance with him all evening.

As their eyes met, she felt herself drowning inexplicably in molten silver even as he dove willingly into coffee-brown. The lights had dimmed as the evening went on and it was relatively dark, the moon high in the sky. Hermione struggled to find something to say.

Luckily Draco broke the silence for her, "You clean up good, Granger."

She flashed him a mischievous half-smile, the alcohol giving her confidence. "You're not so bad yourself."

He accepted the compliment wordlessly. It was a mere shadow of their usual banter, but it was enough to break the ice between them. They discussed Abruzzese's house, the party, inconsequential things. Draco commented on everything she had to say, determined to at least be as good a listener as Krum.

A comfortable silence enveloped them as they enjoyed the music. Draco noticed the scar on her arm, unconcernedly displayed. He recalled the night she'd been given it, remembered her terrified screams as she'd been tortured.

Without even realizing he'd done it, he pulled her closer to him. Her body responded to his instinctively, her hand trailing down from his shoulder to rest lightly against his chest.

The dance ended and other couples began to vacate the hall until the next was announced, but they two remained. He held her, hand still lightly on her waist, her body pressed against him softly.

It was a slow realization that they'd stopped moving, that the music had ceased. Some guests were staring openly at them, which roused Hermione and made her step back from him.

She tried not to make eye contact but felt her face being drawn upward. It was a strange emotion that met her in those orbs, something she couldn't place. Hastily, she thanked Draco for the dance and rejoined Harry, who gave her his own inscrutable look.

 _Perhaps Ron wasn't entirely wrong about the Malfoy situation_ , Harry thought grimly as Hermione rejoined him.

Harry knew Draco wasn't someone Hermione should be getting herself mixed up with. His horrendous attitude toward her during their Hogwarts days was nothing compared to the type of trouble he'd attracted after school. Not only was the man a probable target for the deluded revengers, but there was also the very real fact that he was engaged. In Harry's conversation with Andromeda, the witch had indicated there was more than a legal binding to pureblood engagements. Harry decided he would have to find out exactly what that meant.

Harry didn't know how to broach the subject of Malfoy with Hermione without offending her. He would have to ask Ginny; girls were better at that sort of thing than he was.

Hermione seemed greatly disturbed and silent for the next quarter of an hour, until she was claimed for a second dance with Viktor, which cheered her up a good deal.

Viktor, it seemed, noticed the change in his partner. When he led her back to Harry, he admonished him to take her home, as she seemed fatigued.

This seemed to revive Hermione's spirits somewhat further as she protested the suggestion, to no avail. Harry agreed it was in her best interest to go home, though he doubted she was tired. Quite the contrary, he was sure her mind was spinning.

"At least let's take a walk in the gardens," she pleaded, sounding much more like her usual self. "They're supposed to be magnificent and I haven't even got a good chance to see them yet."

Viktor cast Harry a look, which Harry understood very well. He made himself comfortable by Luna again, thinking it would be good for Hermione to have a little fun following her falling out with Ron. Ron certainly hadn't waited to move on.

The gardens were lovely, alight with sparkling crystals suspended in the air, throwing shadows onto the whimsically meandering pathways. They were mostly flower gardens, obligingly wafting lovely aromas through the night. The stars twinkled merrily, oblivious to the conflict in the heart of the young lady whose shoes crunched on the gravel pathways below.

"I regret ve vere not able to spend more time together this evening," Krum murmured, breaking their silence.

"Me too, Viktor. Seeing you again was wonderful."

"Herm-own-ninny," he said, looking thoughtful. "I think you are a captivating person and you bring me joy. I hope ve can meet again, and I hope that ven that time comes, your heart is no longer sorrowful from vatever idiot hurt you."

"Oh, Viktor," she answered softly, throwing her arms around him. He accepted her embrace readily, a low-hanging willow tree offering some degree of cover from prying eyes. She explained, "I've just come out of a long relationship with Ron and I... I'm still a bit raw. I'm sorry. I didn't know it was so obvious."

She attempted to pull back lightly but he wasn't ready to let her go. She obeyed his silent command, her heart aching from the recent rejection of Ron and the utterly captivating but complicated dance she'd just shared with Malfoy. She _was_ raw.

It was this that made her ready and eager to kiss Viktor when he leaned in, their privacy assured by the blossoming willow tree.

He kissed her deeply, a man eager for love. Hermione kissed him back, eager to forget.


	19. Bloody Slytherins

Author's Note: Now we shall all have some fluff (which is what everyone _really_ wants out of a Dramione). Thank you i was BOTWP for your review!

.

.

The day after the party was Sunday and it rained heavily. Hermione spent the day curled up on the window seat of her flat with Crookshanks, a cup of tea and a book balanced carefully on her lap.

She reflected on the party with a wide variety of emotions. Seeing Viktor had been wonderful and they had kissed, but they both understood she wasn't ready for a relationship, with anyone. He'd promised he would write to her; it would be the rekindling of a correspondence that had begun after her fourth year and had dwindled slowly away the more time passed. Kissing him had felt nice: he'd always been a good kisser, but she was glad Harry had taken her home directly after, lest she do anything rash.

The dance with Draco, on the other hand, had been… unexpected. She'd hoped to dance at least once with him, but she hadn't expected the tumult of emotion that had come along with it. His body had simply felt _correct_ wrapped around hers and he radiated a heat that seemed almost to rejuvenate her very being.

In fact, if it hadn't been _Malfoy_ , she knew she would have been quite ridiculous about him. The truth was, there was something about him that had just felt right in a way that neither Ron nor Viktor ever had.

But the fact remained that it _was_ Malfoy, and things weren't quite so cut and dry.

First and foremost in her mind was the fact that the man was engaged. There was a very real sense of finality in that fact. Not to mention, he had been a part of a cult that had prejudiced against people like her because of parentage. Despite that Hermione was convinced he had by now fully regretted being involved with Voldemort, she also had to admit she didn't think it was possible he could completely rethink a concept he'd been taught was truth since childhood.

 _To him, I will always be a lesser witch_ , she concluded. _Even if he no longer thinks of me as a Mudblood._

.

.

The next day, Monday, Hermione made her way into work, looking forward to leaving her completed house elf law proposal with her boss. Livius Trimble had always been politely supportive of Hermione's efforts in aiding near-human magical beings and Hermione hoped he would humor her again.

She didn't expect to find her desk covered in owls.

Toula looked amused at the look on her friend's face as she took in the five owls that surrounded her workspace. She paid the impatient barred for the _Daily Prophet_ and turned to the other four.

Some were owls she recognized, such as the young snowy that belonged to Harry and Ginny. She took that letter first, noticing Ginny's tidy handwriting on the front of the envelope.

It turned out to be a quick note, asking if Hermione was free the next day to come over and help Ginny out with some wedding things. There was also love from Harry, saying he'd had a great time as her date to the party. Hermione rewarded the owl, Hansel, with a treat and the bird flew off with her affirmative reply to return to his masters.

"Popular witch," Toula commented as Hermione next released ancient Errol of his burden.

To her surprise, the writing on the front revealed the thin envelope was from Mrs. Weasley. She tore it open, curiosity making her impatient. Mrs. Weasley's note lamented that she never saw Hermione for Sunday night dinners anymore and she didn't want her to feel like she wasn't part of the family, just because she was no longer dating Ron.

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes, but refused to let them materialize. She had often wondered if the Weasleys all hated her now, but the answer seemed to be that no, they did not. She set the note aside, not sure how to respond to it yet. In any case, Errol needed some rest before he could attempt another delivery.

The Great Gray owl was one she vaguely recognized and turned out to belong to Viktor. The owl, who had clearly just come off of a long flight, made herself comfortable on the windowsill by the exhausted Errol. Hermione wasn't sure she was ready to read what Viktor had to say yet – the letter seemed to contain some length – and she tucked the envelope away.

The last owl was an imperious eagle owl she didn't recognize at all. She also didn't recognize the handwriting on the envelope, which bore her full address, including her seldom-used middle and surname. The writing was a meticulous cursive, almost like stamped calligraphy.

Curious, she opened the seal and read:

 _I hope you can come tonight, after work.  
I know it's last minute.  
_ _Send Noctua back with your answer.  
_ _–D_

Noctua seemed to be eyeing her with the kind of contempt Hermione had once associated with the owl's master. The bird's huge, yellow eyes reminded Hermione of a basilisk's gaze, which she had been unfortunate enough to be affected by back in her second year at Hogwarts. A lump formed in her throat and she licked her lips nervously. She wasn't sure what to do.

"What is it?" Toula asked curiously.

"He wants to see me after work tonight," Hermione told quietly.

"Who, Draco?"

Hermione winced at the use of his name, as it released a maelstrom of feelings she didn't want to deal with at the moment.

"What's the problem?" Toula queried. "You've been going there a few times a week for the past couple months..."

"But, at the party... we danced, and…"

Toula was grinning from ear to ear as Hermione blushed.

The eagle owl hooted deeply and impatiently.

Toula suggested knowingly, "If you go, maybe it'll answer some questions I'm sure you have." Grinning, the witch busied herself with the stack of work before her.

Hermione scribbled her answer on a piece of parchment. Her fingers fumbled as she attached the reply to Noctua's outstretched leg and the bird cast her a withering look. The owl took flight and Hermione wondered what – if anything – she was getting herself into.

.

.

Draco met her at the entrance hall to walk her to the library, as usual. He really didn't need to anymore, as she knew her way there very well by that point, but she never stopped him doing it.

He didn't say anything about their poignant moment at the party, so she took his lead and didn't mention it either. He also didn't ask how she'd liked his fiancée, so she gratefully left that subject alone as well.

Hermione tittered over a few books in a stack she had made that consisted of their 'to read' pile while Malfoy settled into his usual chair, surrounded by his dogs. Legend, the puppy, seemed to have doubled in size since Hermione had first met him. He was chewing on a toy on the carpet, making contented sighing noises as he did so. Hermione patted the puppy's head as she passed by him and when she sat, Aries the greyhound made himself comfortable in his typical spot by her feet.

They had an established routine, which was why it was odd that Draco did not have his drawing pad with him. Instead, he seemed to be going over something in his head, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Something the matter?" Hermione queried. She successfully kept the nervousness from her voice, but she felt her heartbeat quicken. Was he going to bring up the party?

"Why do you always come here?" Draco wondered unexpectedly, turning his gaze to her.

"Excuse me?" Hermione intoned, blushing.

"Why do we never do this," he gestured to himself and then at her, "at your place?"

"Oh, um…" she struggled. "My flat is a lot smaller than here… it's only a studio, actually."

He pointed out, "We only ever use the library here."

"Yes, well," she answered critically, "I think the entirety of my flat would fit _inside_ this library."

Draco waved the information away. "It would be nice to get away from this place."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, "Are you inviting yourself to my flat?"

"I was hoping to _be_ invited."

"You're impossible."

"Oh, come on, Granger."

Hermione blushed as she thought about her small flat. It was quite big enough for her and Crookshanks, but that was really it. There was a small kitchenette, a utilitarian bathroom big enough for a shower but no bathtub, and a modest-sized living space that that also doubled as her bedroom. It was rather cramped between her Queen-size bed and too many bookshelves. There was just enough space for a loveseat and a small coffee table to squeeze in. She didn't even have room for a dresser, cramming most of her clothes into a tiny closet. Truly, it was lucky she had large windows, because there wasn't space for a second lamp.

She'd always imagined she would only be living there for a few years before moving in with Ron. Now it seemed more permanent.

She licked her lips nervously, "I mean it, it's small."

"I don't mind."

"I have a cat. You hate cats."

"I'll survive," he drawled.

"Why do you want to go there so badly?" she demanded.

"Why _don't_ you want me there?" He was smirking at her cheekily, "That's why I want to go."

Hermione tutted. "You're such a Slytherin, always thinking about how you can discover and exploit your enemy's weaknesses."

"I hope we're not still enemies."

"No, we're not." She felt her heart beating erratically, but outwardly she merely sighed in resignation, "Give me five minutes to clean up, or there won't be space to walk."

"Is it really that small? Or are you merely messy? Now I have to see this."

Hermione hadn't seen Draco this buoyant in weeks.

Reluctantly, she gathered her things, Floo'd home, and glanced around the flat to make sure there wasn't anything embarrassing out in the open. She stuffed some dirty laundry into the basket and hid the lot in the narrow closet. She also changed out of her work clothes and quickly threw on some jeans and a top she found lying around.

She was about to tidy up a few dirty dishes with magic when she heard the whoosh of the fireplace and cursed Draco for not waiting five minutes like she'd asked.

 _Bloody Slytherin…_

It was an extremely odd sight to see Draco Malfoy in her cramped, modern flat on the third floor of a busy-ish street in the Muggle town of Chipping Norton. All that aristocratic ease seemed weirdly out of place.

She fidgeted as he gazed around, taking in the details of her personal space. It almost felt too intimate to have him there, especially when accompanied by the turbulent feelings she was harboring.

"Well, this is it," she said, vaguely gesturing to the space with her hand.

"You were right, it is small," Draco observed.

"Now you see why we never come here."

"I can work with this." He strode to the loveseat and sat, installing himself there. "It's more comfortable than the one in my library," he ascertained. Glancing around again, his eye caught the violin case resting in the corner on top of a pile of sheet music, "You play?"

"My parents wanted me to learn. I took lessons growing up, but I don't really play as well as I could."

It was an odd thing, to admit she wasn't as good at something as she could be. It felt almost too comfortable, like having him sitting in her flat while Muggle traffic occasionally passed by below.

Crookshanks rose from his cushion by the window and stretched luxuriously in the way only a cat can. He jumped down and sauntered over to Draco, his bottlebrush tail held high, and began to sniff him.

"Ah, the dreaded cat," Draco said sardonically.

"Crookshanks," Hermione warned softly, "be polite."

Crookshanks looked up at his mistress with big, yellow eyes and yowled before brushing up against Malfoy's legs.

"He likes you?" Hermione was confused. Crookshanks had always hated Ron quite a bit, tending to ruin his shoes when he'd come over to stay. He tolerated Harry.

"Animal magnetism," Draco explained sarcastically. He made a face, "He's getting hair all over me."

"Says the one with _seven_ dogs," she scoffed.

With just a small amount of banter, they were comfortable again despite the cramped space. A teasing remark about all her bookshelves and a retort later, Hermione was offering him some elfish wine she'd been gifted from Harry and Ginny for her birthday.

The stuff was strong. They both soon became relatively intoxicated.

"Cats or dogs?"

"Dogs, obviously," Draco ridiculed, drinking deeply from the wine and scratching Crookshanks on the head where the cat had curled up by his side, purring. "Favorite season?"

"Spring."

"It would be."

"What's yours then?"

"Winter."

She wrinkled her nose, "But it's so cold."

"Dancing or conversation?" he asked, an impish glint in his eye.

"Definitely conversation, I don't really dance often," Hermione admitted.

His brow furrowed, "You danced quite a bit the other night, if I recall."

It was a mere brush of the subject, but Hermione wasn't so agitated about it now that she'd had some wine. "So did you," she countered, smiling.

The corner of Draco's mouth lifted up into a smirk. "Favorite color?"

"Red," she answered stoutly.

"Green," he argued.

They stared at one another for a moment before Hermione burst into laughter. They'd been playing this game the entire evening and so far, they hadn't agreed on a single thing. He smirked, realizing the same.

When she finally ceased her laughter, she sighed. She wasn't sure if it was the wine, or the hilarity, or both, but she took a chance and slid up close to his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Draco stiffened at the obvious display of affection, then settled. It was a strange feeling, having her pressed against him in a distinctly non-sexual way. Comforting.

Neither knew what to say. There didn't seem to be adequate words for the exquisite breakdown of emotional barriers built over years of war and mistrust.

Hermione giggled nervously, "I think I might be a little bit drunk."

Draco laughed and Hermione looked up to see a genuine smile lighting up his features. It seemed out-of-place to her, almost unreal, but perhaps that was only because she wasn't used to seeing him alight with actual happiness. "Understatement of the year, Granger. I think if someone lit a flame in front of your mouth, you could burn down an entire country."

She laughed again at the ridiculousness of his statement, then sighed contentedly, making herself more comfortable against his body.

Beside her, Draco swallowed nervously. He thought guiltily of Astoria. It was weird being affectionate with someone and there not being a chaperone, almost naughty. But he wasn't doing anything like that, Draco reasoned to himself, she was just resting her head on his shoulder…


	20. Cold Tea

Author's Note: 'Tis a bit short, but it needed to end there. Also, please don't think I've gone all fluffy on you all. Thank you, as always, to i was BOTWP and K. E. Degz for your reviews.

.

.

Hermione awoke, blinking slowly as she registered the light filtering in through the tall windows of her flat. She wasn't on her bed and there was a warm body sidled up next to hers.

Her eyes snapped open and she realized she was still sitting on the floor of her flat with Draco, their backs resting against her secondhand couch. Her head was pressed into his chest and he appeared to have gone to sleep with his arm around her, as it hung there limply.

She noted the empty bottle of wine on the coffee table and quickly made sure their clothes were still on, breathing a sigh of relief that they both had remained fully dressed. It would have made everything dreadfully complicated if things had gone the way they usually did when she and Ron had imbibed too much...

Draco was not a very graceful sleeper, Hermione thought to herself with amusement, his hair tousled and mouth open slightly. He began to stir as she moved and she separated herself from him reluctantly. It wouldn't do to send the wrong idea.

 _Or the right one?_ She banished the thought as quickly as it had cropped up.

She yawned, watching him as his eyes opened and he registered where he was, blinking down at her bemusedly.

"Good morning," she murmured.

"It must be," he answered without hesitation, voice still thick with sleep as he ran his hands through his hair.

Hermione busied herself with tucking a few stray curls behind her ears, pretending to not understand his meaning.

She shifted to stand up but was stopped when one of his hands reached under her chin and pulled her head up to look at him. He brushed his thumb lightly across her bottom lip and pressed on the middle gently. The pressure of his thumb caused her lips to part slightly. Her heart went wild, thudding erratically as he leaned in.

The kiss was tangibly uncertain at first but quickly became more confident, his hands venturing into her tangled hair. His embrace was warm and delicious and they were locked there for a moment, suspended in time and space in a surprisingly chaste kiss.

An otherworldly feeling began to build within each of their chests and it seemed to both that they could sense their very essences mingling with one another in the void between them. These intangible selves brushed together lightly and both recoiled in shock at the contact, but then slowly reached back out with small tendrils of hope and curiosity before wrapping tightly around one another. It was a curious melding.

When they broke apart, their connection receded. Their eyes opened, each taking in the sight of the other, when the full implication of what they'd just done seemed to hit them both simultaneously.

Draco stood quickly, running his fingers through his still-tousled hair, "Oh my god. Astoria…"

Hermione guiltily stood as well, refusing to make eye contact with him, her cheeks burning. What they'd just shared had been amazing and like nothing she'd ever experienced before… but it was _wrong_. He was engaged, and to a woman he cared about.

"I'm sorry, we shouldn't have done that," she whispered softly.

Draco looked anywhere but at her. "I've got to get home."

"Yes," she agreed, her eyes rooted to a spot on the couch that needed mending.

He Disapparated with a 'pop' and Hermione's eyes moved to stare at the spot where his body had disappeared, as if willing him to come back. She sat that way for almost a half hour, her brain turning at what seemed to be light speed until she registered that it was Tuesday and she would be expected to be at work in an hour.

Hermione had never called out from the office before. She hadn't done it when she'd been sick, nor when Ron had broken up with her. Today though, with how fragile her psyche had become, she knew she had to.

Once her excuses had been made, she tidied herself up a bit and threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, shoving her head in and shouting, "Grimmauld Place." It was an odd feeling having only your head fly through an entire network of fireplaces, but the feeling dissipated the moment she arrived.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she found Ginny there, alone but for Kreacher.

"Hermione?" the redhead gasped. Her friend never called in this way. "What's happened?"

"Nothing like that, Gin. Can I come through?"

"Of course, of course," Ginny replied as Kreacher made himself busy preparing tea for their visitor.

Hermione pulled her head from the fireplace and Disapparated to her friend's house. She sat down in one of the kitchen chairs opposite Ginny and simply stared at the table.

Ginny was a sharp girl, but it didn't take a genius to know something was wrong with her friend. Harry had told her about the party in Italy, especially about the dance she'd shared with Malfoy and his worry that she would be dragged into some kind of trouble. She knew about the walk through the gardens with Krum, where she had returned with just-been-kissed lips and a beaming Viktor.

Ginny set aside her seating chart and took Hermione's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Tell me about it."

It was moments like this, that Hermione felt truly thankful to have Ginny Weasley as her friend. Everything poured out of her, a true tsunami of emotion: reading with Malfoy, being dumped by Ron, meeting Malfoy's fiancée and realizing she wasn't an ogre, the party, the dance with Malfoy…

…Even Hermione noticed the trend there.

Ginny was a great listener when she wanted to be and she didn't interrupt once, waiting to speak until Hermione had said everything she felt she had to. She had related all the things that had been bothering her and building up, leaving out only the kiss they'd shared that morning. In her mind, it was still too new and precious to share.

Finally, her speech exhausted, Hermione sipped the tea Kreacher had brought, which had grown cold by that time. She felt diminished somehow, almost empty now that all these emotions had been laid on the table. Often in the past, it had been Ginny that had these tantrums, and Hermione had listened patiently. Now Hermione felt like a child at the doctor's office, waiting for her exam in a paper smock, otherwise nude.

"Hermione," Ginny said slowly, her brown eyes searching her miserable friend's face, "I am only going to ask you this once… as your friend: are you in love with Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione felt her lip quiver at the words. She'd never thought it – never allowed herself to think it – even in her head. She'd never entertained the idea, but this concept, spoken so plainly by Ginny, revealed the stark truth.

"Oh," Hermione hiccupped as a dam of tears sprang from her eyes. "Oh, n-no… I c-can't… l-love him. H-he's all w-wrong for m-me… he's…"

She was sobbing, truly sobbing now, in a way she hadn't in years.

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny soothed, taking her friend into her arms in a sister-like embrace.

It was the pity in Ginny's voice that made Hermione's whole body shake as she was wracked with sobs. This was what Toula would have dubbed "ugly crying." Her eyes were red and puffy, leaking everywhere and soaking through her friend's sleeve as she was rocked slowly by Ginny.

When she finally began to calm herself, Hermione hiccupped, "The thing is… I _know_ h-he's not as good a p-person as I've build him up to b-be." She tried to pull herself together, sipping her frigid tea to stop the hiccupping, with marginal success. "He's got this deep-rooted blood prejudice that I h-highly doubt he can overcome, even though he's treated me like a-an equal. N-not to mention, he's engaged and he seems h-happy with her…"

"Let's just be glad that he's never given you any encouragement," Ginny responded grimly. "That would make this even harder to overcome. I mean, it's not like you've kissed…"

Hermione's entire weight seemed to sag at her friend's words. That morning's moment of shared bliss with Draco had been a last vestige of privacy.

This did not escape Ginny in the slightest and the redhead sucked in a breath, "You… you _did_ kiss him? Oh, Merlin."

" _He_ kissed _me_ ," Hermione corrected plaintively.

"Oh, Merlin," Ginny repeated, genuinely astounded. She ran her fingers nervously through her long, ginger locks.

Hermione glumly nodded.

"How… how was it?" Ginny wondered.

Hermione shook her head, sighing sadly, "Amazing."

 _Not good_ , Ginny thought, grimacing. _And here I had Ron pegged as the irresponsible one._


	21. Sanctity

Author's Note: PLEASE READ THIS FIRST! Got your attention? Good. This chapter comes with a trigger warning for violence. Don't say I didn't warn you. Thank you i was BOTWP for your review. I'd love to hear from people about what you think about this fic.

.

.

Her face was swollen, mottled red-and-purple from burst blood vessels that grew more apparent closer to her neck, which was near-black with lividity. Behind her back, her hands were tied with a length of cord and her wrists were sliced wide open like sneering red mouths. Streams of blood ran from her ravaged arms, through her swollen fingers, down her naked buttocks and legs, pooling on the floor below her suspended form.

Harry's face felt hot as he gazed up at the dead girl swaying from the rope that hung from the high ceiling. "Isn't there any way to cover her up? Preserve a little modesty?" he queried, not very hopeful in the answer.

His partner at the crime scene, Martin Laurence, was a veteran Auror more than twenty years Harry's senior. He'd had action in both Wizarding Wars and had seen just about everything by then.

Laurence looked up at the young woman, whose lower body shone with her own life's blood. He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder and answered grimly, "Unfortunately not, Potter. We don't want to accidentally tamper with any evidence."

Harry nodded; he had known that would be the answer.

The room seemed otherwise untouched, aside from the dead girl swinging from the rope above. It was richly furnished with an evergreen-colored carpet and ornate, expensive-looking chestnut furniture. The ceiling was vaulted, making the room look more like a cavern than a bedchamber. There was no sign of a struggle.

Harry was taking in the sight of the room, thinking he could probably have fit the Dursleys' kitchen inside it, when Laurence deduced, "She seems to have been put here _after_ she was killed."

"What makes you say that?"

"Look," Laurence pointed out, casting an incantation that revealed large splashes of magically-concealed blood leading from the doorway to where the girl swung. "She was already bleeding out when she was brought here."

Below the hanging form, smeared deeply into the carpet, a fiend had used the girl's blood to scrawl the word 'Sanctity.' Harry gazed at the word, feeling sick as he remembered the bloody words spread onto the wall at Hogwarts: 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware.'

 _And that had only been chicken blood_ , Harry reminded himself, feeling slightly nauseous.

"What kind of person slaughters a human being to send a message?" It was a rhetoric question, they both knew. Harry gritted his teeth, his eyes darting to the woman's mottled face.

"You've heard, of course, about the last time a body was discovered in this house?" Laurence prompted.

Harry nodded, acutely aware of the shady past of Malfoy Manor, where he and his partner currently stood. "When Draco Malfoy found his mother butchered in her own bedroom…"

"…And the word 'Justice' scrawled across her mirror in her own blood. It seems there's a psychopath out there somewhere with a _particular_ interest in Malfoys."

Harry glanced away from the horribly strangled face of the young woman he had briefly met at Draco's side only three days ago. She wasn't even a Malfoy, though she had been planning to become one.

 _Did someone want to kill her because she was a Greengrass... or did they want to destroy Malfoy?_ Harry pondered.

Harry recalled the utterly tortured look on his former rival's face when they had hauled him away for questioning, less than half an hour ago. He imagined it was something like what his own expression would have looked like if he'd found Ginny in this way.

 _Ginny…_

Harry's hand clenched his wand tightly and he breathed deeply to calm the roaring beast within his brain, willing himself to banish the idea from his mind.

Laurence was casting revealing spells on the room. He glanced over his shoulder to see Harry standing there, clearly very affected. His face softened, "We need to scour this place for evidence, Potter. The examiner should be here soon for the body."

Harry stared at the single word smeared into the green carpet. The blood had already congealed in places and turned black. A glint of something shiny caught his eye and he bent down to investigate.

"Laurence," he called. He pointed to the floor, refusing to pick up the object, lest he should ruin any evidence, "A ring."

Laurence strode over and got down almost to floor level. The Auror siphoned dried blood from the object with his wand, leaving it in place. Inset with opals and moonstones around an impressive diamond, the ring would have been an eye-grabber in ordinary circumstances, but had been camouflaged by gore. The older man's eyes flicked up to the woman's hand, where an indent on her ring finger was still evident.

"An engagement ring," Laurence concluded. "Good work, Potter. Now let's examine where this trail leads from…"

.

.

Harry stumbled through the fireplace into Number 12 Grimmauld Place with a single purpose in mind. It was still before noon, and he was meant to be taking a lunch break, but he didn't care. Ginny sat at the kitchen table with Hermione, working on the seating plan for the wedding, which was in less than two weeks. Hermione looked like she'd cried recently, but Harry had other business to attend to first...

"Harry!" Ginny registered, a smile spreading across her features.

Without a word in response, Harry swept his fiancée from her seat and into his arms, embracing her much tighter than necessary as he kissed her fully and deeply.

When he finally released her, head swimming from the intensity of the kiss, Ginny observed, "That kind of day, huh?"

Harry nodded, smiling apologetically at Hermione. "Martin Laurence and I were just called in to investigate a murder at Malfoy Manor."

What little color was in Hermione's face, promptly drained from it. Ginny shot a quick look her way before accosting Harry, "What happened?"

"A psychopath – probably the same one that killed his mother – has murdered Draco's fiancée."

Wordlessly, Ginny summoned Harry a small tumbler and a half-full bottle of aged firewhiskey from the cupboard. She poured him a half-portion, which he knocked back gratefully, clearing his throat before succumbing to one of the rickety kitchen chairs.

"Is he okay? Malfoy?" Hermione prompted in a small voice.

Harry removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to burn the image of the young woman's ruined face from his mind. "He's been taken into custody for questioning. I don't think it was him, considering the expression of complete and utter torture on his face this morning, but it's a necessary procedure considering he was alone when her body was discovered in his own bedroom…"

"What time did he report the murder?" Hermione questioned with a strange ferocity, her eyes flashing.

"Around 8:30 this morning," Harry answered.

"It wasn't him," Hermione affirmed with such certainty that Harry raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know?" he asked.

Ginny cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Because, well," Hermione continued, visibly uncomfortable, "he was with me this morning."

Harry frowned, "What were you doing with Malfoy that early in the morning?"

"Well, ah…"

"He spent the night at her flat," Ginny snapped out brusquely.

Harry gaped at Hermione, horrorstruck.

"Nothing happened!" Hermione clarified. It wasn't entirely a true statement, but Hermione could imagine Harry was thinking the worst.

Harry relaxed slightly, but only just. Hermione felt her cheeks burning. "Hermione," Harry began, looking suddenly quite a bit older than he was, "Malfoy has become a dangerous person to be friendly with. Perhaps not because he is dangerous himself, but because of all the things that come along with being _him_. Right now, that happens to include a sociopath who is hell-bent on destroying anyone and everyone Malfoy becomes close to."

"Sounds familiar," Hermione commented dryly.

Harry shook his head, "I know you're thinking about me and Voldemort. I love you for sticking by my side until the very end, but I don't want you to put yourself in danger like that again. What if you aren't so lucky next time? Do you think I could handle it if I had to investigate _your_ murder? You have to ask yourself if Malfoy is worth the risk."

Hermione thought critically about what her friend was saying, knowing he had her best interests at heart. "You're sure this has nothing to do with a Hogwarts rivalry?" she queried suspiciously. She didn't really suspect him of being so petty, but she wanted to clarify that he wasn't over-reacting.

Harry shook his head, realizing the direction of his friend's thoughts, "This wasn't the work of the _Avada_ , Hermione. When Narcissa Malfoy was murdered, she was stabbed no less than twenty times and her blood covered the entire room, every sign of a struggle apparent. They never found the killer. This morning, Malfoy's fiancée was hanged, then bled out through her wrists. Worse still, the examiner seems to think her body shows signs of having been sexually violated before the incident occurred... after which, she was left in Malfoy's own bedroom for him to discover."

Horrified looks from both Ginny and Hermione made Harry wish for another swig of firewhiskey.

He continued, "The murderer left a message for Draco both times, written in the victims' blood. The Auror office has known for awhile that someone was after the Malfoys, but this is something far more sinister than the rioters or the self-dubbed 'revengers' that have attacked the families of others once involved with Voldemort... Someone is bent on destroying him." Harry paused, his mind still full of the pain he'd witnessed on Draco's face. "Today, I think they may have come very close to succeeding."

A deep silence blanketed the trio. Harry poured himself another half-portion of firewhiskey.

Ginny cleared her throat to relieve some of the tension that had infiltrated her kitchen that morning. "That is going to be one hell of a dispute when the engagement is called into question."

Hermione cocked her head at her friend, "What do you mean?"

"Pureblood engagements are more than just legally binding," Ginny responded, matter-of-factly. "They're a magical binding with very real consequences when certain things strain or break it. Mum never believed in the tradition; she always thought it was too archaic."

Harry recalled his discussion with Andromeda, weeks ago now. She had said much the same thing as Ginny. "I need to know what the agreement entails and what the consequences are," he concluded. "I have a feeling it will give me some answers."

"Let me help you," Hermione pleaded, her whole body rigid with disgust at everything she'd just learned. "I can help you find the exact wording of the laws."

"That's not a bad idea, Harry," Ginny agreed with her friend. "Hermione does the best sort of research you can sensibly ask for. As you know."

"The Malfoy library most likely has the answer in it somewhere," Harry mused, rubbing the scar on his forehead in annoyance. It was a habit he still did occasionally when he was very stressed, though the mark hadn't bothered him since the fall of Voldemort. "But I don't know where to begin to look…"

"I know exactly what section the book will be in, if it's anywhere," Hermione stated, her mouth set into a firm line. She loved that library - had loved that Draco had surprised her with it - but there was one section she consciously avoided, due to the highly questionable material contained there.

She was determined to help, knowing that in knowledge there was solace, even from life's greatest difficulties. She hoped she would find answers... even if they weren't ones she wanted.

Harry appraised his friend. At a look from Ginny, the question of how she knew where the book would be, died in his throat. "That would be a great help," he agreed instead.

"Let's go now," Hermione suggested, rising from her seat.

"But, Hermione," Harry protested. "It's a crime scene."

"Did the crime occur in the library?" she demanded.

"Well, no, but…"

"Well it seems to _me_ that the legendary Harry Potter, Order of Merlin First Class, Auror, and defeater of the darkest wizard of modern times, should be able to pull a few strings," Hermione retorted bossily, picking up her jacket. "Send an owl to get Malfoy out of custody, and then let's go."

Harry and Ginny exchanged worries glances behind Hermione's back.


	22. Crumbling

Author's Note: Draco is one of my favorite characters in the Harry Potter universe and here is a whole chapter dedicated to him. It's a bit ramble perhaps, but whatever. Anyway, thank you to i was BOTWP and both of the Guest reviewers. I love hearing what people think of my story!

.

.

Draco had been nineteen when Narcissa told him she thought he was ready to consider marriage. He remembered the conversation like it had been last week. There had been precious few autumn leaves still adorning the trees that October.

"Perhaps not this year," Narcissa murmured thoughtfully, "but sooner rather than later. Next summer, perhaps."

Draco had stared at his dinner on the plate before him. His appetite had been poor following the War, but this turn in the conversation had caused it to disappear entirely. "Are you certain _now_ is a good time for this, Mother? There is still discontent. Perhaps we should keep our heads down for awhile instead of attracting attention."

"Nonsense," Narcissa responded with authority. "You could benefit from some familial comforts, Draco."

"I'm not saying I don't want to get married, _ever_ ," he'd answered tentatively, pushing his food around on his plate with his fork. "Things are still very uncertain with Father in prison and with our position only just re-established…"

"Which is precisely the reason to do it."

"I don't understand."

Narcissa swilled her wine in her mouth in a way she would never have done around company. "We need to throw a society event to remind the Wizarding community why name of Malfoy still matters, and is still respectable."

"I see," he'd fumed angrily. "Let's just hitch me up to the best pureblooded broodmare that will take our sullied name, in order to regain some high ground in society. Great."

He'd pushed his chair out and left her at the table alone.

Undaunted, Narcissa had begun playing matchmaker right away.

The first luncheon had been with Pansy Parkinson and her mother, to Draco's horror. There was too much history there, for both of them. She was like an annoying cousin. The idea of spending the rest of his life with her made him shudder.

The second meeting had been tea with Daphne Greengrass, who had also been in his own year in Slytherin and was one of Pansy's friends. That had been almost as awkward as meeting Pansy for such a thing.

Narcissa liked the Greengrasses as an option: they hadn't been involved with the Dark Lord at all, opting to keep their heads down during the War instead of choosing sides. Luckily, before Narcissa could pressure Draco toward the match in any way, Daphne was the subject of a quickly hushed-up scandal involving Gregory Bulstrode that resulted in their hasty marriage. Draco had been relieved.

It had been with a good deal of pessimism that Draco stepped into the summer drawing rooms of Malfoy Manor to meet his third prospective bride.

Draco had seen Astoria before, when she was young. He remembered her as a first year when he'd been a fourth – made all the more awkward for being Daphne's annoying little sister. He'd been apathetic about her at best.

Astoria was very pretty that day in a navy blue sundress, her hair twisted into an incredibly complicated-looking updo. Gone was the gangly, annoying girl three years below him in Slytherin house that liked to play rough with the boys.

He hadn't seen her in some time, but she'd really _become_ someone. Graceful, refined, reserved, beautiful, untainted. Utterly desirable.

He'd agreed to see her a second time, to his mother's delight. As custom dictated, Draco went alone to Greengrass Manor, where Astoria met him in the entrance hall to bring him to dinner where he would be formally introduced to both of her parents. She'd been even more stunning with crimson lips painted to match the exact shade of her dress. Her dark hair hung like a curtain of soft twilight.

She had – rather unexpectedly – taken Draco off into one of the alcoves, where she proceeded to test out their physical compatibility. Her lips had been hot and full of expectations. Her body had pressed against his, her fingers had trailed down his chest, his stomach, grabbing a fistful of his manhood through his trousers, already partially erect from her touch.

It had been passionate fire and she had blazed with it, making her even more desirable. He'd whispered things he would do to her, given the chance, and she had gasped deliciously in his ear as he verbally ravished her. They'd been interrupted when her chaperone sought them out to discover what the holdup was. The woman had taken note of their disheveled appearances and hadn't left them alone since, even for a minute.

It felt so good to be wanted by someone again, to be able to exact a promise at a chance for happiness and normalcy.

Narcissa had been ecstatic when Draco had told her of his choice. Pureblood customs dictated that they wait until both were at least nineteen to marry, and as Astoria was almost three years his junior, they would have to wait. Still, there was nothing disrespectful in a long engagement, Narcissa had admonished.

Draco hadn't wanted to wait….

…Now he'd be waiting forever.

There was a chair in the holding cell at the Ministry's Auror office, but Draco didn't use it. He felt acutely alone. At least if he could see the presence of something else beside himself in that dreary holding cell - be it only an inanimate piece of furniture - he didn't feel quite so empty. He slumped against the wall, knees bent and pressed up against his chest. He placed his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

He tried not to remember Astoria's naked body swinging from his bedroom ceiling, but it was so fresh and vivid, impossible to banish.

Draco's thoughts lingered on the memory of Lucius telling him that as a Malfoy, control of oneself was essential, or at the very least, the illusion of being utterly untouched by emotion. No matter the circumstances, holding one's head high was the Malfoy way… the _only_ way to act with impunity. Draco had always tried to emulate his father in beliefs and mannerisms; Lucius had been a symbol of undisputed power, up until his arrest.

Control had never been Draco's strongest virtue. He'd been indulged since childhood as much as he'd been disciplined. He was volatile, springing from one emotional extreme to the next, but only when no one was around to see it.

Draco had spent the entirety of sixth year in clandestine turmoil. He'd taken the Dark Mark in a mockery of a ceremony in the back room of Borgin & Burke. It had taken all of his cunning to mend the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement, poring over Arithmancy volumes in the Hogwarts library whenever he could. Broken magical objects weren't things you could fix with a simple _Reparo._

In the end, he _had_ fixed it. He _did_ let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts… but he couldn't kill Dumbledore.

That was when he first became aware of the crumbling going on within him. He had been cracking all year into sanity-slicing slivers of frustration and fear, and he had achieved _nothing_.

The War was a blur of things he would rather forget. He'd become painfully aware of his subconscious self, questioning every instinct, every impulse. He'd been tortured, his father had been tortured… and he finally saw Lucius for what he really was.

Draco knew he didn't want to be that man anymore.

Impulse was no longer something that existed for him. He thought everything through critically, hyper-aware that he'd been given a second chance to fix things. Every decision to be made was one to question one's impulses on. All the implications must be considered before action was taken.

…Until that morning, when he'd kissed Hermione. He hadn't even thought about it, he just allowed it to occur.

His nose wrinkled. Why _had_ he kissed Granger? It was uncharacteristic of him to be impulsive like that. _What had been that entwining sensation?_ Had she used magic? Had _he_? He didn't want to think about it, but it nagged at the back of his mind, not to be pushed aside.

It was easier to ignore things that didn't suit him. Kissing Hermione Granger _definitely_ wasn't what he would consider to be convenient. Draco couldn't fathom what the action meant when his mind was this agitated.

The holding cell's door slid open with an oily squeak and Draco found himself grateful for the distraction from the horror and confusion undulating through his brain, even if the person who stepped into the room was one of the last people he wanted to see.

Ron Weasley stood before him, taller and redder than ever. The ginger-haired man looked in Draco's direction, shooting him a look of utter disgust. Draco waited for the other man to say something.

They were silent for a few seconds before Ron folded his arms in front of him and announced, "Well, Malfoy, Harry tells me you've got a pretty fantastic alibi, although I didn't get to hear who it was that put their neck out there for you this time."

Draco stiffened in his seated position against the wall. So Potter knew he'd been with Granger, but he hadn't told Weasley. _Interesting,_ his inner-Slytherin noted. Though perhaps Potter was right not to tell Weasley. After all, Weasel and Granger had been together for years, up until recently – or so she'd indicated.

Draco wondered what had attracted Granger to Weasley for so long. Certainly the man had considerable height and that was usually a point in one's favor. He was taller than Draco, but also gangly in a way that most boys grew out of when they became men. His bright flame of hair was too ginger, his freckles too many...

But then, Draco mused to himself, Granger didn't seem the type of girl to go for a man for his physical appearance.

In fact, he was pretty sure that if Granger found something honorable on the inside she liked enough, she could readily ignore that the outside resembled something the Kneazle might have dragged in.

Draco frowned, trying to look deeper: Weasley was an Auror, he'd fought alongside both Potter and Granger during the War. Draco remembered Weasley bellowing Granger's name from the basement whilst Bellatrix had tortured the girl, scarring her.

And Draco had just watched.

He'd hated it, but he'd watched nonetheless.

 _Loyalty, then. Granger admired Weasel's loyalty, at the very least. How very Gryffindor._

"See something you like, Malfoy?" Ron demanded irritably. "Because you are not my type at all, even if I _was_ into blokes."

Draco blinked, realizing he'd been staring rather pointedly at the other man. He tried to relax his face into the typical Malfoy placidity, trademarked with a hint of a sneer.

"Trust me, Weasley, I'd have to be incarcerated a hell of a lot longer than a few hours to consider anything as freckly as your ass. Additionally, I have no desire to contaminate myself with essence of blood traitor," Draco drawled convincingly.

Inwardly he flinched at his own words, remembering Hermione's soft lips pressed against his. _I am a blood traitor, too._

He wanted to vomit. What little ego he still clung to – the little shred that hadn't deteriorated over the years, finally crumbled into little pieces of debris at his feet, surrounding his body as he leaned against the wall of the holding cell at the Ministry.

Ron's blustery face grew red and he uncrossed his arms, clenching his fists, "I may have orders to release you like a plague upon decent people, _Malfoy_ , but while I have you alone, let me make one thing clear… Leave. Hermione. Alone. Don't _touch_ her, don't _talk_ to her, don't even _look_ at her."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Whatever stupid thing he'd been expecting Ron to say, it wasn't that. Draco thought of brushing the back of his fingers against Hermione's shoulder, of the warmth that seemed to emanate from her as they danced, of the sweetness of her mouth, the supreme weirdness of feeling himself connect with her vibrant essence… no, she had definitely kissed him back.

He mentally slapped himself.

Still, Weasley was a cinch to rile up, with the correct ammunition. "Last I checked she didn't seem to mind my company."

"You can't help but ruin everything you touch, can you?" Ron breathed dangerously.

Draco grimly realized he couldn't deny the truth of that statement, so he remained silent.

"If you hurt her, I will personally kill you, Malfoy."

"Is that a threat?"

"Absolutely."

Ron opened the door to indicate their conversation was over, gesturing for Draco to leave. He'd never really feared the redhead's retaliation back at Hogwarts, but there was something in the conviction of his voice that made Draco believe every word the redhead had said.

Ron led him wordlessly to a Ministry worker seated at a desk, where Draco had to sign numerous documents, including one that stated he could be subjected to further questioning by the law, if deemed necessary. There was another document indicating that he was not to leave the country during the investigation, and another to agree that he was also not to enter his own home for the next 48 hours, as it was an active primary crime scene.

It was so like the time Narcissa had been brutally murdered, but this time there was no Astoria to comfort him. Draco wanted to crawl under a rug.

Forcing himself to remain stoic and collected, at least in front of Ron, he read the documents carefully (he wasn't Lucius's son for nothing) and compliantly signed everything.

"Where can you be reached in the interim if necessary?" the man at the desk questioned, quill poised over yet another piece of parchment.

Draco had to think for a moment. Two of his three properties were out of the country, and he couldn't return home for the next 48 hours. He hadn't been going to Pureblood Society meetings for over a month at Astoria's request – his stomach lurched as he remembered her plaintive appeal – so he wasn't sure where he stood with many of his former peers.

"Nott Estate," he grumbled finally. Theo had always been good company, and he was pretty sure he would have at least an alright reception from his old friend. Theo had plenty of guest rooms and no one to fill them. "For now."

"If Orson and Helena Greengrass should wish to speak with you, do you consent to allow your whereabouts to be released?"

 _Sweet Salazar… her parents._ He would have to confront them and she'd been murdered because he had staked a claim on her.

He swallowed. "I'll be in touch with them sooner or later."

Ron led Draco from the building like a child that couldn't be trusted. Normally Draco would have made some sort of deal about this, but his mind was occupied with the bloated, blackened face of his dead fiancée, his brain tortured with the realization that some psychopath had taken some sick pleasure in humiliating her beautiful body before making her last moments a living hell.

He had done nothing. Again. Could do nothing, to help her now.

He'd slept peacefully in the home of another woman while she hanged. Bile was rising in his throat and he struggled to keep it down.

"Remember what I said, Malfoy," Ron growled as they finally parted by the Ministry's Floo grates.

Draco took a fistful of the powder to transport himself to Nott Estate. He couldn't reflect on the stupid kiss with Granger just then. He was shattered.


	23. Sanctus Pur

Author's Note: A weirdly transitory chapter, but lots of necessary information. Thank you i was BOTWP for reviewing.

.

.

"Is she intact?" Helena Greengrass demanded, her face twisted into a sour expression.

She was tall for a woman, skeleton-like, with sallow, almond-colored skin stretched tight across what probably once was a strikingly beautiful face. Time and War had seen to putting a few silver hairs into her otherwise midnight black locks.

"Helena, don't," Orson castigated. He was the opposite of his wife: short and rotund, with a few scraps of fair hair still clinging to an otherwise-bald head. "We've just found out we've lost one of our daughters and you want to know if…"

"If she sullied our name before she was strangled, yes," his wife finished for him, barely fazed.

That afternoon, Harry discovered that if there was one thing more terrifying than facing Voldemort had been, it was probably telling Helena Greengrass that her daughter had been sexually violated and murdered. She had summarily ignored everyone that told her she could not enter an active primary crime scene, that she couldn't see her daughter's body yet, or that she couldn't speak to the Aurors combing Malfoy Manor for evidence. Her husband had trailed along behind her, apologetic and distraught.

Luckily for Harry, the coroner hadn't seemed to notice that Mrs. Greengrass was a Valkyrie reincarnated.

"I'm afraid her virtue was not preserved," the coroner answered. "If you need any more proof, I suggest you take a closer look at this." The man held up the engagement ring that had been a fixture on Astoria's ring finger for two years. "It came off before she died."

Harry's brow furrowed. _What does the ring have to do with anything?_

He made a mental note to ask Andromeda.

"We will have to settle with Mr. Malfoy _immediately_ for this foolishness," Helena uttered, her eyes fixed on the ostentatious ring. "An indiscretion like this…"

"What if she was _raped_?" Orson demanded, visibly more upset than his wife.

The question hung there and the coroner and Harry both shuffled slightly.

"Well?" Helena demanded of the man. "Did she show signs of being forced? I know you examined her and I need an answer."

"It's difficult to say, madam. She bears signs of being under the Imperius Curse."

"You're informing me that my daughter was _Imperiused to give up her virtue_?" Any man would have quaked under the withering gaze Helena Greengrass gave the coroner, and the poor man finally dissolved into a gibbering puddle of himself.

"It's possible," Harry stepped in. It wasn't the poor coroner's job to deal with this woman. She reminded Harry a bit of Aunt Petunia. "Finding the madman responsible for the murder will be able to give us better answers."

"Tell me," Helena sneered, "why the _famous_ Harry Potter, defeater of the Dark Lord, would want to help out with a _pureblood_ family's troubles?" Orson looked appalled at his wife's gall.

Harry wasn't bothered. He'd been asked other versions of this question before and had the answer ready, "Because I believe in a sense of justice for everyone. There is no sense in holding grudges based on blood. Why would someone want to kill your daughter?"

Orson shook his head sadly, looking ready to cry. "My sweet Astoria... how could someone hold a grudge that manifests like this?"

"Honestly, Orson," his wife snapped, "you don't think someone killed her because she was a _Greengrass_. She was murdered because she was to become a _Malfoy_."

Harry, who thought this was probably true, remained silent.

"Check the chaperone," Helena suggested with a wave of her bony hand, covered in too many rings. "Miss Grant was supposed to watch over the girl. Find out if she knows anything. She will have to answer to me, either way."

With that, the tall woman stalked from the room, her husband trailing behind and leaving Harry and the coroner with a very real sense of relief at their absence.

.

.

Hermione felt a delightful sense of rebellion settle into the pit of her stomach as she Apparated to her wheat field. It had been harvested in the week prior and now stretched, empty, down an expanse of countryside.

She knew it was growing too cold in the season for her to use the field many more times that year, but Hermione was comfortable after snuggling into her jacket and casting a warming spell around herself.

The pages of the aged tome she had nicked from the Manor library seemed out of place in the waning beauty of autumn. Still, combing the dusty volume for pureblood engagement rites had seemed too furtive to do in front of anyone else when she had a newly-ackowledged personal interest in Draco.

There were going to be answers in this book, she could tell. She used the index to find a promising chapter:

 _"Of enchantments for binding withe the intent of marriage, there are two...  
_ _The firste is that of Pura Consors, the Unbreakable Vow of marriage. Only those with pure intention can commit to this enchantment. In fidelitie ye are bound. Ye may also promise ye vows. The spell shall not be dissolved until_ _deathe do ye part."_

Hermione touched the aged parchment of the page with fascination as she realized she was likely the first Muggle-born witch to ever look at these words, kept secret by purebloods for generations. There were detailed instructions on how to perform the marriage rite listed there in archaic language. It was interesting, she noted, that the _Pura Consors_ vow didn't seem to stipulate that both parties be pureblooded.

She also had a feeling this wasn't the type of enchantment surrounding Draco's and Astoria's planned union. For one, the spell had to be cast to perform an actual marriage rather than an engagement. Also, despite how fond Draco had seemed of his intended bride, the binding ritual seemed too, well… _pure_ for two people who didn't know one another that well.

 _"The seconde enchantment is that of Sanctus Pur and will bind the intended in engagement through the use of Rings."_

Hermione read the second passage with a frown; the _Sanctus Pur_ seemed to be an agreement of the exchanging of property. The casting of such a spell required the approval of at least one parent from each of the halves of the intended union. The male half of the couple was to initiate the enchantment, but the female half wasn't even required to give her consent. Additionally, the woman needed to be bodily virginal, though the man was not restricted to such requirements.

"This is really quite archaic," Hermione complained with a sniff before remembering she was alone in a field in the countryside. Miffed, she returned to the book.

There were five full pages that consisted of agreements of property transfers, including elaborate guidelines for dowries. Hermione grew more and more scandalized the further she read.

 _How could anyone willingly enter into an agreement like this, in this day and age?_ she wondered. This _must have been invented centuries ago_ …

A storm began to percolate in the clouds above, but it wasn't until a raindrop fell onto the open page of the book that Hermione realized the imminent danger to the decrepit parchment. She sighed and Apparated to the park by Grimmauld Place, quickly approaching the door of Number Twelve and knocking three times to be let in against the weather.

"Make yourself comfy, I'll put out an extra plate for dinner," Ginny told her. "Harry should be home in a bit."

Hermione settled into one of the poufy armchairs in the living room and reopened the book, reading on. While only the intended groom in a _Sanctus Pur_ binding could end the engagement by casting a releasing enchantment, there did exist a way for the intended bride to be released: she could commit an indiscretion.

 _"The Rings are immovable on ye fingers until ye marriage be performed.  
_ _Should the woman receive pleasures of the fleshe, her Ring will fall from her hande and refuse to returne. The binding shall be broken. Ye_ _cannae renew the enchantment.  
_ _If the intended commit pleasures of the fleshe with one another, the Rings and enchantment shall remaine. Any resulting childe will be a bastard in the eyes of the law, even if ye marriage occurs before birth. This childe will not inherit propertie of any kind from their familye.  
_ _Should the man test the pleasures of fleshe, the enchantment remaines, but the Ring of yon woman shall growe hot and his weakness shall be known to her."_

Hermione recalled her kiss with Draco, following which he'd abruptly stood and whispered in horror, "Oh my god. Astoria…"

Well, _that_ suddenly took on a different meaning, she realized. He must have suspected Astoria's ring would inform her of his straying. Had that been the burst of curious magic she'd felt in his kiss? It had felt more like a combining of spirits rather than an enchantment... and in any case, Astoria had probably been dead by then...

Hermione thought of the kiss with Draco and licked her lips, as if willing herself to find a trace of him there. He had let his inhibitions fall away that morning and she recalled his fingers tilting up her chin, the soft brush of his lips on hers, the taste of him in her mouth, the warmth of his entity. She had felt herself crash against him in the void, like waves dashing on the craggy rocks of the seashore...

Harry Floo'd into the living room at that moment, looking somewhat worse for wear.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, glad for the distraction lest she get carried away with her imagination.

" _P_ _lease_ tell me you have done some Hermione-level-amazing research," he pleaded without even a 'hello'.

She breathlessly repeated everything she'd learned about the two different kinds of binding enchantments, along with her belief that the Malfoy-Greengrass agreement had been a _Sanctus Pur_. She detailed for him everything she knew so far about that particular vow.

Harry nodded to himself for a few moments, his face betraying that he was filling in pieces of a puzzle he'd been worrying over for hours.

"Astoria's chaperone, a Miss Grant, has been arrested and taken in for questioning," he told her. "She Imperiused her ward to give up her virginity to _someone_. There's a good chance this Miss Grant was Imperiused, herself. They're examining her now and she's absolutely beside herself."

"That's awful," Hermione effused in a hushed voice. Her own loss of innocence hadn't exactly been painless, but Ron had been gentle with her and they'd been in love. She couldn't imagine being forced.

"It makes sense then, about the ring," concluded Harry.

"What?"

"Astoria's engagement ring," Harry clarified. "It was left on the floor below her body. It was basically a huge middle finger to Malfoy."

Hermione felt sick to her stomach.

"There are some more questions I have though," Harry continued, "like what happens to a bound engagement if one party dies? Helena Greengrass – be _very_ thankful you never have to deal with that woman, Hermione – is under the impression that she owes Malfoy a substantial sum of money. If the engagement was already dissolved beforehand, why would that be?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, "it wasn't in the part of the book I read."

"I'm going to go see Andromeda," Harry announced.

"I'm coming with you."

"Hermione…"

"Don't argue with me, Harry, let's just go."

"You two aren't going _anywhere_ until after dinner!" Ginny yelled from the kitchen.

The friends glanced at one another in exasperation, but whether it was because they both loved Ginny, or because she sounded an awful lot like she'd been channeling Mrs. Weasley in that moment, they both trotted into the kitchen without argument.

.

.

Harry and Hermione stepped from the fireplace into Andromeda's house, but she and Teddy were nowhere to be seen.

"Andromeda?" Harry called.

"Upstairs, Harry!"

They climbed the flight to discover Andromeda giving Teddy a bath. As she always did when she saw Andromeda, Hermione flinched: the woman looked too much like Bellatrix.

"Harry!" Teddy exclaimed excitedly. His hair was shaggy and purple today and upon seeing Harry, the toddler's eyes immediately mimicked the same vibrant green as his godfather's.

Andromeda laughed as Teddy reached out to Harry to be picked up, "Harry doesn't want to pick you up right now, you scamp. You're all wet!"

"Up! Up!" Teddy insisted.

"We have some questions for you," Harry informed her.

"Sure. How about I put Teddy to bed and then we can talk as long as you like?"

It was a mark of how close Harry and Andromeda had become over their mutual interest in Teddy that Harry nodded, led Hermione downstairs to wait, and put the kettle on for tea without being asked. The action did not escape Hermione.

"I'm proud of you, you know. You're such a good part of both Teddy's and Andromeda's lives," she said with a small smile at her friend. She sobered a moment, "I'm sorry I've been so absent lately…"

"Ron really cocked things up, didn't he?" Harry returned her half-smile. "Just to warn you, he's bringing Fleur's sister to the wedding as his date."

"Thanks for the warning," Hermione gulped.

She was already anticipating the shamefully long discussion Toula would want to have over this piece of information.

"How… how is she?" she ventured.

"You mean what kind of person is she? She seems like she has a bit more fluff in her head than actual brain, but at least her English is better than Fleur's," Harry shrugged. "Thank Merlin for that, because I'm not sure I'd be able to handle her calling me 'Arry all the time…"

Hermione smiled, a mischievous idea coming to her. "Can I bring someone, too?"

Harry's grin slid from his face, "I don't want Malfoy at my wedding, Hermione. It'll just make me think of this horrible case when all I want to do is have a good time marrying Ginny. No offense."

"I wasn't thinking of Malfoy," Hermione protested, disturbed that Harry had jumped there so quickly.

He relaxed, "Who, then?"

"Viktor."

"I'm sorry to ask, Hermione… but after the whole taking-McClaggen-to-Slughorn's-Christmas-party-to-annoy-Ron-thing…?"

" _No_ , Harry."

"Not even a little?"

"Okay, maybe a little. But mostly because I like Viktor… not like _that_ , it's too soon after Ron… but I know I will have fun with him and that's all I really want."

Harry laughed at her. "That's fine Hermione, I like Krum."

"I'm supposed to owl him anyway," she grinning, thinking of her overdue response. "I'll ask if he's free."

Andromeda appeared at the top of the stairs just as Harry was putting out the tea things. She smiled at him, a sure indicator that she was nothing like Bellatrix despite the uncanny family resemblance. "Thanks for getting tea, Harry. Teddy's only just gone to bed, but I can't promise he'll stay asleep. You'd better jump right in."


	24. Blood Grudges and Scotch

Author's Note: Thank you to i was BOTWP and JessebelleSilver for your reviews. Love them! A great review makes me rethink some elements of the story. Anywhere, here is the next bit and buckle up for a Potter-Weasley wedding in the next chapter.

.

.

Andromeda gasped and was shocked in all the correct places while Harry filled her in about the case. Hermione allowed the details to flow through her brain once more as her body went through the mechanical steps of making tea for everyone, occasionally adding something Harry had forgotten.

"Draco had better start protecting himself," Andromeda concluded firmly, once Harry had finished the tale.

"We have questions about that," Harry encouraged, "the attack on Malfoy's mother and the attack on his fiancée… they can't be the work of separate people. They're too similar."

"No, they are certainly the same person," Andromeda agreed, "and the perpetrator is a pureblood."

Hermione looked surprised, "What makes you say that?"

"For two reasons," Andromeda explained. "First, because they understood the subtleties of pureblood engagement customs - which are kept quite secret - and sent a _very_ clear message for Draco in breaking them. Second, because they undoubtedly invoked a blood grudge."

"What's a blood grudge?" Harry wanted to know. He was on the edge of his seat, ignoring his tea. Hermione eyed her friend; Harry got that way when he felt he wasn't close enough to solving something. He'd been a nightmare trying to find horcruxes with, especially after Ron had taken off…

Andromeda took a deep breath, "There are some things about being a pureblood that neither of you are going to fully understand, because neither of you are one..."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Andromeda held up her hand.

"No, Hermione, _really_ ," she insisted. "I don't mean it in a disparaging way, just that, well, it's a way you're raised. Think of it like a religious sect where members are _allowed_ to mingle with people outside the group, but it isn't encouraged... and you're taught from a young age to think of everyone _not_ in the group as inferior."

"The Weasleys aren't like that," Harry pointed out.

"Or the Longbottoms," added Hermione.

Andromeda shook her head, "Bear with me, it's not something I've ever had to explain before." She seemed to be thinking about her words as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Purebloods have very antiquated customs… laws that they don't believe benefit from changing with the times, as the rest of the Wizarding world has. You wouldn't _believe_ the political upheaval that occurred when purebloods tried to fight the use of the Hogwarts Express when that was established as the only means to get to Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded sagely and recited, "Ottaline Gambol first suggested to use the train for the transport of magical children to Hogwarts in 1827 when she became Minister for Magic."

Harry's head swiveled around to look his friend in the eyes, amusement shining there. "Of _course_ you know the history of the Hogwarts Express," he teased.

"It was the largest concealment charm ever performed in Britain! They had to perform over 160 memory charms!"

Harry's expression only grew more amused.

" _Over one-hundred and sixty_ , Harry!"

"You're right, of course," Andromeda agreed thoughtfully. "Pureblooded families thought it was unsafe and demeaning to use a Muggle invention. They operate with a kind of internal hierarchy, where purebloods are at the top of the pyramid, followed by half-bloods, Muggle-borns, Muggles, then magical creatures."

Hermione bit back a scathing comment.

"However, that line of thought hasn't been popular for centuries now and purebloods are dwindling… for that reason, purebloods may not necessarily like one another, but they are considered peers. Marriage is borderline sacred."

"I've done some research on engagements and marriage practices," Hermione spoke up. "There seems to be great importance placed on rings."

"You told me once that marriage laws were more than just legally binding…" Harry prompted. "I want to know why Helena Greengrass thought she would have to pay Malfoy some enormous sum of money because her daughter was no longer 'in tact' when she was killed."

"It _is_ rather dreadfully Victorian," Hermione sniffed.

"According to the standards Hermione looked up," Harry continued, "Astoria wouldn't even have been engaged to Malfoy anymore when she was killed."

"True," Andromeda agreed, "but she will have brought great shame to the Greengrass name by ending her engagement in such a way. Most women are disowned for…"

"But she was _Imperiused_!" Hermione exploded indignantly. "She didn't _choose_ to end it!"

Andromeda gave Hermione a wry half-smile, "I didn't say the laws were good ones. That's just how it is."

"It's _barbaric_."

"I agree that they're awful rules, Hermione. Why do you think I left my family to marry Ted the way that I did?" A small, sad smile crept onto Andromeda's face at the memory of her late husband.

Harry looked pensive and Hermione wondered if his thoughts were lingering on his quickly approaching nuptuals with Ginny when he asked, "Is this why the Weasleys are considered blood traitors by other purebloods? Because they don't uphold the traditional customs?"

"Exactly."

Still irritated that a woman would be considered responsible for being raped, Hermione brought the topic back to the one at hand. "So how does the blood grudge fit into all this? What _is_ it, exactly?"

"Well, occasionally one pureblood family does something that will enrage another family to the extent that they invoke the grudge," Andromeda explained.

"And you think someone is trying to start one with Malfoy?" Harry queried.

"I think someone has almost _fully_ _exacted_ a blood grudge," she corrected. "Three family members must die to end the grudge. Narcissa was the first, then Astoria, and Draco will be next. I doubt the perpetrator will think murdering Lucius would mean much, given that he's been rendered soulless by the Dementors and is currently rotting in Azkaban. No, it'll have to be Draco, and as he's the last Malfoy that isn't brain-dead, it's an acutely perfect kind of revenge. Wiping out an entire bloodline…"

Hermione's heart seemed to freeze at the idea and she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

"Then the fact that both bodies were left for him to find also seems to indicate that he would be the logical choice for the third…"

"That's horrible," Harry effused, his face twisted into a grimace. He picked up his tea, which had started to go cold and took a sip to calm himself.

"Not to mention Draco's obliged to be in mourning for the next two years before he can try to cast another _Sanctus Pur_ …"

"Two _years_?" Hermione gasped.

Harry shot her an inscrutable look.

"Yes," Andromeda confirmed. "That's to keep the men from murdering fiancées they've gotten sick of, just to take their family wealth. Not that it happens much, but there's quite a lot of weight being thrown around when you try to mix old names. Property, wealth, family history… although Draco will be lucky if he's still alive in another two years, with the grudge hanging over him."

A silence settled over the room for a moment, each of the three lost in their thoughts.

"Do you remember the person you told me about the last time we spoke of this?" Harry finally asked quietly.

Andromeda fixed her gaze on him, "I do."

"Do you still think there's a chance it could be him?"

"I do."

"I have had a very difficult time getting much information on him, but I have some," Harry admitted. "Perseus was the youngest of three Lestrange brothers. The older brothers, Rodolphus and Rabastan, were both Death Eaters but Perseus wasn't. Rodolphus, the eldest, was married to your sister Bellatrix. Both Death Eater brothers were killed in the War, but Perseus didn't attend either of their funerals. He married another pureblood, Camilla Avery, who died a few years after their only child was born. Their son, Deimos, is currently in his fifth year at Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin."

Andromeda nodded, confirming all the information. "Perseus was so in love with Narcissa when they were teenagers. They considered just casting a _Pura Consors,_ and thus eloping, but that spell hasn't been cast in over a hundred years, that I know of. In the end, Narcissa couldn't bring herself to marry without our parents' consent. That was when she found out she had already been promised to Lucius Malfoy."

"Ugh," Hermione effused.

"Like breeding dogs, no?" Andromeda agreed with a quirk of her eyebrow. "Lineages are very important, but it's hard to be too fussy when most of your suitors are your third or fourth cousins."

"Why didn't Perseus support the Death Eaters?" Harry wondered. "That's what I want to know."

"There were plenty of families that were divided on the subject. Look at me. Look at Sirius and Regulus. Even the Prewetts had a defector. Molly will have told you about her Squib relative, somewhere distantly related?"

Hermione nodded, remembering Ron mention the man before.

" _Not_ a Squib… a Death Eater in the first War. They found out after he died. I doubt Ron or Ginny have any clue."

"So you think Perseus might not have supported Voldemort, despite that the rest of his family did?"

"Oh, I _definitely_ think Perseus supported the ideas," Andromeda answered. "He would have been a force to be reckoned with if he'd taken the Mark. The problem with him always was, he believed the Dark Lord would fail because he was only a half-blood. He was _obsessed_ with being pureblooded. Naturally, Narcissa never saw much of that side of him; she was too in love. But I saw it. He treated others like pawns in a game… when he got bored of it, he simply flipped the table over. He didn't take it well when Narcissa ended things with him, but my sisters and I were all raised with the expectation that we would marry where it was chosen for us."

"So he invoked a blood grudge?" Harry prompted.

"It wouldn't shock me."

Harry frowned, "But who would he have a grudge on? Narcissa? If he loved her, why did he kill her?"

"He would have had the grudge on the _Malfoy_ name for taking her away," Hermione guessed.

Andromeda nodded, "Exactly. It's really very cleverly laid out, especially the part about wiping out the fiancée. With a two-year mourning period, Draco won't have time to produce another heir. You get the only heir alone, then pick them off last. It instills a certain fear along the way that the name will be entirely wiped out."

"I feel bad for Malfoy, he seemed really attached to Astoria," Hermione commented.

Harry shot her another look.

"I do, too," Andromeda agreed. "The Malfoys haven't made it their priority to marry for love, but they have traditionally afforded more choice to their heirs than some families I know of. He likely picked her from among several options. Narcissa had a much better time of things with Lucius than Bellatrix did with Rodolphus. I can assume the same would have been true for myself, if I hadn't ran away to marry Ted."

"You consider Lucius Malfoy to be a _good catch_?" Harry gaped at Andromeda like she had spontaneously mutated before his eyes.

The older woman smiled. "I don't expect you to understand, Harry. You just have to take my word for it that Lucius was a better man than most other purebloods Narcissa's age, not to mention both wealthy and handsome. He cared for Narcissa a good deal, at least in the beginning. I can't speak to what the War may have done to their marriage."

"Why do you think Astoria was assaulted before she was killed?" Hermione queried, the thought nagging at the back of her mind. "Wouldn't another pureblood feel bad about harming another family they hadn't invoked the blood grudge on?"

"It's complicated, but the fact that Draco cared for her even a little was probably the main reason they…" Andromeda took a deep breath. "A pureblooded girl's virtue is a gift to her future husband. They took that from Draco, too – at least that's how he will see it."

"Nana?" a small voice called sleepily from the top of the stairs.

"What's the matter, dearest?" Andromeda answered Teddy, excusing herself as she rose from her comfortable chair and set her tea down.

"There's a… a lethifold under my bed."

"Well, we can't have that, can we, love?" Andromeda said softly, climbing the stairs to take the small hand of her grandson.

Hermione and Harry sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, while Andromeda disappeared upstairs. The tea grew cold and Hermione wondered when exactly monsters under the bed had become less frightening than flesh and bone.

.

.

"How do you think Potter did it?" Theo wondered as he slumped back in his armchair.

"Did what?" Draco drawled, swigging back half the glass of scotch Theo passed him.

"Defeated the Dark Lord."

Draco snorted and slurred, "Damned if I know."

Theo smirked as he leaned in to say, "You're drunk, you pisspot."

"You're pissed too, you tosser."

Theo laughed loudly, almost falling from his seat.

"And what kind of person," Draco added with a sneer, "gets drunk on Scotch? You're supposed to _enjoy_ Scotch."

"Better than having a whiskey willy," Theo countered triumphantly.

Draco shot his friend a look of disgust, "I hope you're not trying to come on to me… poof."

Theo laughed uproariously and this time, he did fall from his chair, right onto his face. Draco laughed too, at the utter ridiculousness of a drunk Theodore Nott falling all over his drawing room furniture. He stuffed a fist up to his mouth to keep him from laughing too hard and falling out of his own seat.

It was a fantastic release after the stress of the day he'd had.

"You may want to consider it," Theo managed to cough out breathlessly. "Since you're off the market for the next two years."

The words had an instant sobering effect on Draco, whose face straightened immediately. "I can't believe she's gone."

"Don't do… that kind of thinking…. while you're drunk," Theo slurred, pulling himself back into his chair with great effort. "It only makes it worse."

Draco nodded, knowing that was good advice. He was no stranger to drinking alone and dwelling on horrific thoughts. "Have you ever thought about the stupid shite your Father did, and how different your life would be without all that?"

"All the time," Theo nodded slowly.

"Someone's got a blood grudge on me."

Theo winced, "You think it's because of your Father?"

"It's _got_ to be. I keep trying to think… who was pureblood that my Father brassed off during the War royally enough to invoke a _blood grudge_?"

"I dunno, but the way Lestrange talks about you at Pureblood Society meetings, ever since you royally slapped the piss out of him and then stopped coming... he makes you sound like a blood traitor."

"It can't be him, though," Draco reasoned, "my Mother was killed years before that meeting."

Theo shrugged, "Either way, you should watch out for him. He _hates_ you and no one likes to be a victim."

"I'll keep it in mind," Draco muttered, knocking back another finger of the expensive Scotch Theo had pulled out hours before.

"You can stay here awhile if you want," Theo offered with a shrug. "There are all kinds of enchantments on the Estate that protect guests from harm and shite."

"I may do that."

They were up well into the night, flowing alternately between drunken laughter and deadly serious conversation. Unable to stumble up the stairs into either of their rooms, they simply passed out in the drawing room sometime after midnight.

Draco dreamed of light laughter and soft lips pressing against his. For awhile after waking the next morning, he was confused, sure that she would be pressed up against him, her head on his shoulder as before. Realization trickled slowly through his hangover and also, a firm disappointment.


	25. The Potter-Weasley Wedding

Author's Note: This is by far my longest chapter, but I didn't really want to split it up. Thank you i was BOTWP for your review. I hope you're all in the mood for a wedding...

.

.

In the end, Mrs. Weasley convinced Ginny to have the wedding at the Burrow. The pavilion tent they'd used for Bill's wedding come back out onto the lawn, but was placed further from the house. There was no War this time, and therefore no need for protective enchantments or careful secrecy.

Hermione met Ginny and Siobhan at the Burrow early on the Saturday of the wedding. The actual ceremony wouldn't be until four, but there was a lot to do.

Ginny was vibrating with contagious excitement.

"Do this thing with me please," she requested, pretending to be serious but with a sparkle in her eyes that gave her away. The three girls clasped hands in a circle and danced around Ginny's childhood bedroom screaming and laughing for a few moments. Breathless, Ginny collapsed onto her old twin bed. "I can't believe I'm marrying Harry today."

"Well don't get all star-struck yet," Siobhan warned. The blonde had already plaited her own hair into an elaborate updo and charmed it to stay in place. "We have a _lot_ to do before you say your 'I do's. The schedule, Hermione?"

Hermione produced a folded piece of parchment from the pocket of her robes and Ginny groaned. " _Please_ tell me you haven't made an official document for this?"

"I am going to pretend I didn't hear that," Hermione sniffed with mock-hurt. "First, you are going to have a nice breakfast until nine o'clock… then we are going to have Fleur come do your hair the way she did last week with all the waves, which will take roughly forty-five minutes…"

"I have your aunt's tiara right here," Siobhan informed Ginny as she held up an old, velvet-lined box. "It should set it all off nicely."

"Once your hair is done," Hermione continued, "it will be almost ten and your mom and Audrey will have finished arranging the flowers in the pavilion, so you will have to go down and approve them."

"I'm glad Audrey is helping with that part," Ginny breathed. Percy's wife was a fastidious perfectionist.

"Then it is make-up time," Hermione reeled off, "which I am rubbish at, as everyone knows… so Siobhan is in charge of that part."

"I am going to be _ruthless_ with your eyebrows," Siobhan informed her friend with an evil smirk.

"What's wrong with my eyebrows?" Ginny huffed.

"Then we get you in your dress!" Siobhan squealed, ignoring Ginny and casting a longing glance at the ivory-colored clothing bag that hung from the closet door. "And we can take some pictures…"

" _Then_ you walk down the aisle looking like a dream come true and we all wait for Harry's jaw to hit the floor," Hermione finished confidently.

"I hope it really does," Siobhan grinned.

"It will," Hermione affirmed.

"I'm so nervous. Do you think we're too young to get married?" Ginny wheezed suddenly.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet already!" Siobhan gasped.

" _No_!" Ginny cried. "I certainly am _not_."

"There's even time for your to practice your vows in-between things," Hermione added, folding up her schedule primly. She was glad she'd taken the time to charm her own hair the way she'd done it for Abruzzese's party a few weeks ago. She had a feeling she would be busy all day.

"Breakfast, girls!" Mrs. Weasley's voice called from the kitchen below.

The three raced from the room, bombarding the stairs.

.

.

The weather was perfect for an October wedding.

Hermione and Siobhan had their work cut out for them, even though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been preparing all week. Hermione couldn't tell if it was because there wasn't a War going on this time, or because it was Harry and Ginny instead of Bill and Fleur, but Mrs. Weasley seemed far more relaxed about the proceedings. Things seemed far more orderly, less stressful… and the redheaded matron had been nothing but kind to Hermione, to her relief.

While Fleur was arranging Ginny's hair and Siobhan had gone to help Mrs. Weasley, Hermione was given the task of fixing the path that led from the pavilion into the garden. Percy and Mr. Weasley had made it so the back of the enormous tent opened into the sunset, which would be behind the couple as they said their vows. After the ceremony, guests could stroll through the garden from there, if they wished.

Audrey had done a fantastic job with the flowers. They burst from everywhere in red, orange and yellow, twining up the support poles for the marquee, and out of every corner. They made beautiful splashes of color against the white chairs and the golden carpet going down the middle.

Hermione fixed the pathway easily enough; it had been enchanted there, as there wasn't a need for it in normal circumstances. She was just inspecting the archway at the end of the aisle, where Audrey had really outdone herself in tasteful blooms twining upward, when a gnome went sailing through the air and landed on the far side of the stone wall beyond.

"Nice one, Ron!" George's voice floated over.

Hermione froze. Another gnome presently went sailing past followed by more praise. Mrs. Weasley must have asked the boys to de-gnome the garden for the comfort of their guests.

"Hermione, heads up!" George yelled as a third gnome went sailing by.

Her cover blown, Hermione reluctantly made her way into the garden, where Ron and George were grabbing gnomes from their holes and lobbing them with all their might over the far wall. More of the creatures were popping their heads up in interest at the proceedings, making the task all the easier.

Hermione hadn't seen Ron since they'd broken up, so it was with some trepidation that she smiled at the boys in greeting. "Hey, Ron. Hey, George."

" _Geroff-me! Geroff-me!_ " cried one of the gnomes before it was launched.

"Mum sent us to de-gnome the garden," Ron explained lamely, though it was obvious that's what they were doing.

"Shall I give you two a minute, eh?" George grinned, disappearing before he could receive an answer.

Ron shuffled his feet and Hermione shifted awkwardly in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione," Ron finally said.

"What?"

"I'm sorry for the way things ended with us."

"Me too." She began chewing her lip.

He shot her a half-smile, which she returned. "Harry told me I was complete and utter cock-up and threatened to castrate me."

"Did he? Well, you seem to have held up alright."

"Yeah," Ron grinned. "He's a good friend, Harry is… the only git I'd allow to have his slimy hands all over my sister…"

"I'm just happy they're getting what they want. After everything we've all been through, it's nice to know there's still love in the world and that it's attainable."

Ron took a deep breath before admitting, "I miss you."

She raised an eyebrow in response.

"As friends," he added quickly. "We were friends for seven years before we tried dating."

 _As if I'd forgotten_ , she thought acidly.

"I don't regret anything we had, or did together, for the record," Ron continued, emboldened by the fact that she hadn't started yelling at him. "In a way, I'm glad it ended before it went sour. I care for you too much, but we just weren't right. I'm sorry I was a git. I felt just as bad as when I walked out on you and Harry when we were looking for horcruxes."

Hermione considered him and decided he was probably telling the truth. "I'm not dating Malfoy, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry about that, too."

"Friends again?"

"Friends for sure," he confirmed, a look of relief spreading across his face. It seemed a palpable weight had been lifted from him and Hermione smiled, despite how hurt she still felt when she looked at him.

She would _try_. It would be difficult, but she would try her hardest.

.

.

All too soon, the ceremony loomed imminently. Ginny was done up properly and everything was in place. Hermione glanced from Ginny's bedroom window, where she could see Harry arriving with Neville. The two had grown close after the War and Neville was Harry's other groomsman besides Ron.

White-robed waiters and golden-jacketed band members were finishing setting up their things under the marquee when the first guests began to arrive.

"Nervous?" Hermione queried, seeing Ginny bite her lip.

"A bit," the redhead admitted.

Hermione sighed as she gazed at her beautiful friend. Her vibrant hair had been curled becomingly and was pinned half back by her aunt's heirloom goblin-made tiara. Her dress was white and flowing with a golden sash tied around her waist, empire-style. She seemed to give off a glow of happiness.

"Don't worry about anyone else," Hermione counseled, taking her friend's hand warmly. "This day is for you and Harry."

Ginny smiled, squeezing her friend's hand. "I'm glad you're here too."

" _Oh_ ," a choked voice came from the doorway. The girls turned to see Mrs. Weasley standing there in brand-new dress robes, tears welling in her eyes.

"Mum…" Ginny enunciated lovingly as the two women embraced and Mrs. Weasley burst into tears.

"I told myself I would save my tears for the ceremony," Mrs. Weasley joked, wiping her eyes. "Your father will think I'm very silly."

"I'm sure he won't, Mum."

Pretending to be all business, Mrs. Weasley put a hand on her hip and made to scold her daughter, "Ginevra Weasley, you have no right to look so grown up and beautiful. You were supposed to stop looking any older after you turned _ten_."

The girls all laughed and Hermione slipped away to give mother and daughter some togetherness.

When it was time, Hermione and Siobhan headed down the aisle of the crowded pavilion, wearing matching red and gold dresses Ginny had picked out. Much of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team was there, along with the entire Weasley clan, including (to nearly everyone's distress) Ginny's Auntie Muriel.

Hermione grinned at Toula, who gave her the thumbs up, then caught the eye of Viktor and smiled brilliantly before her attention snapped up to the archway at the end of the aisle, where Harry was waiting.

He looked somewhat green at being the center of attention, but beamed at Hermione nonetheless. She squeezed his hand as she passed and he shot her a grateful glance before refocusing completely on the golden aisle before him.

Teddy came next with the rings, his chubby cheeks looking very serious indeed. Andromeda must have commanded him to be on his best behavior. Little Victoire stumbled along after Teddy, throwing fistfuls of red, orange and yellow petals across the aisle as she went.

Anticipation settled palpably over the entire assembly and broke when Ginny and Mr. Weasley finally stepped into the pavilion. Hermione hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she realized Harry was doing the same. She felt her eyes become misty as she watched her friend melt completely at the sight of his bride.

Shortly, Mr. Weasley hugged Harry, then handed him his daughter's hand. Hagrid was already blowing his nose noisily into an enormous handkerchief the size of a tablecloth at the back of the tent.

"Hey," Ginny whispered to Harry breathlessly.

"Hey," he answered weakly, flashing her a smile.

The presiding official began the service. He spoke a good deal about faithfulness and finding solace in one another in difficult times, but Harry and Ginny barely heard a word, they were too busy gazing at one another.

"…Then without further ado, I now declare you bonded for life."

The wizard waved his wand over the pair and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now-entwined figures. Applause erupted throughout the tent and bells began to chime as the pair kissed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please stand up."

The pavilion rearranged itself for a moment. A golden dance floor appeared beneath their feet, just as it had with Bill and Fleur's wedding. The chairs hovered a moment and arranged around magically appearing tables. The band went to the podium.

Hermione went to find Viktor, eager to get away from the throng of people that seemed intent on burying Harry and Ginny in good wishes.

"You look vunderful," Viktor told her with a smile.

"So do you," Hermione told him truthfully. He had clearly taken pains to be well-groomed. "Can I introduce you to some of my friends?"

"Vell I had vanted to vish Potter a long, happy marriage… but I see he is occupied this vay already," Viktor answered with a good-natured grin. He offered her his arm, "I vould love to meet your friends."

Hermione introduced him to Toula and Siobhan and upon learning that Siobhan was a member of the Holyhead Harpies, the two immediately were swept up into a conversation about Quidditch that Hermione and Toula couldn't follow.

Silver trays of hors d'oevres and bottles of champagne were floating around the pavilion and Hermione grabbed the four of them some glasses. The two Quidditch players were soon hotly debating whether or not the Chelmondiston Charge – a Chaser standing on their broomstick and leaping off to thrust the Quaffle at the goalpost – was suicide or genius.

"I have been fooled by it all of _once_ ," Siobhan affirmed. She played the Keeper position for the Harpies. "It was my first game. It's a silly move."

"I haff to disagree," Viktor was telling the pretty Irish girl, "I haff seen it used very effectively."

"Not against _me_ ," Siobhan boasted.

"No, not against you," Viktor conceded, eyeing the girl.

Hermione excused herself to say hello to a few other guests and Toula followed, leaving Siobhan and Viktor in a good-natured argument about a similar Quidditch move, the Dionysus Dive.

"I hope you're not interested in him romantically," Toula admonished, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder in Viktor's direction, "because I think Siobhan just accidentally stole him."

Hermione laughed. "Honestly, after the whole Ron fiasco, I'm thinking I'll take a break from dating. Viktor knows; I made it clear to him that I wasn't looking for anything serious when I asked him to the wedding."

"Not to mention the Draco Malfoy situation," Toula teased.

Hermione blanched, "I am _not_ dating Malfoy. His fiancée was just _murdered_!"

"Calm down, I'm only teasing…"

The night seemed to be going well. Ginny and Harry danced their first dance together and then other couples took to the dance floor. Angelina waltzed exuberantly with George past the much more formal Percy and Audrey. Bill was teaching Victoire to dance while Fleur bounced their chubby infant on her knee nearby, gazing at the pair fondly. Neville had brought his girlfriend, one Hannah Abbott from their year at Hogwarts, and the two were chatting amiably as he twirled her. Luna was there as well, and was dancing in a rather odd fashion with Rolf Scamander, who'd been introduced to Harry and Hermione at Abruzzese's party as her other half.

It was a strange reunion and it seemed to be full of mostly couples, Hermione realized.

Much of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was in attendance – Hermione saw Oliver Wood, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell talking to Lee Jordan. Seamus Finnegan had asked a Gryffindor from Ginny's year, Demelza Robins, to dance. Auntie Muriel, who was now 111, sat creakily at the table by Fleur, giving her unwanted advice about raising children in a traditional British fashion. Hermione smiled and slipped away before Muriel could turn her attention to her to reproach her for having skinny ankles or something equally ridiculous.

Unfortunately, she turned around only to get a faceful of Ron dancing quietly with Gabrielle, their faces betraying total bliss. Hermione hurried away, grateful that Toula had gone to find the loo and wasn't present to chatter about Ron's audacity.

It was hard to be happy for him when she was still alone, but she was trying.

The soft _zing_ of the last of the year's crickets greeted Hermione's ears as she stepped from the boisterous tent into the garden behind. A trio of gnomes were attempting to sneak back over the stone wall without being noticed. She wandered through the moonlit garden alone, trying to shake away the images of all the couples inside.

 _You are worthy of love_ , Hermione repeated, trying to convince herself of it. _You are._

"Well there's a long face if I've _ever_ seen one."

Hermione glanced up at the sound of the familiar voice and found Andromeda tucked away into a corner of the garden. Her feet were swinging idly as she sat on the wall, mostly eclipsed by a flutterby bush. In the darkness, with her hair piled on top of her head like that, the woman resembled Bellatrix almost alarmingly and Hermione shivered for a moment. Andromeda was wearing a crisp cream-and-silver dress and was, oddly enough, puffing on a long wooden pipe that emitted a greenish haze.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Hermione frowned, "I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't, but this is a special occasion."

Hermione approached Andromeda, who made space for her on the garden wall, and sat. The two women were enveloped in companionable silence and curling smoke.

"Ted smoked a pipe when he was anxious," Andromeda explained, expelling green smoke from her lips. "It was all I could taste when I kissed him at our wedding. I think he thought my family was going to come bursting in and murder him before we could actually get married."

The smell was not unpleasant, Hermione decided. Something herby and warm.

"It reminds me of him."

"It must be hard, missing him," Hermione remarked.

"I have no regrets about how my life has turned out," Andromeda answered and Hermione noticed she had very cleverly evaded the comment. "What about you? You look like someone ran over Crookshanks."

Hermione sighed and explained how she was feeling about her breakup with Ron and that it was very off-putting seeing him happy with someone else. She added, "Although I did agree to be friends with him again and I know I _should_ be happy that he's found someone…"

Andromeda offered her the pipe and Hermione hesitated, then surprised them both by accepting it. She inhaled the earthy smoke, allowing it to seduce her tongue with its softness before choking and breathing it out as it burned her nostrils. She began to feel a little calmer, though her head was spinning slightly.

"There's someone else too, isn't there?" Andromeda queried, once Hermione's coughing fit had dissipated.

"Of course not. It's too soon."

"Hermione, I have seen a _lot_ in my day. You're in love with someone you can't have."

"Is it so obvious?" she demanded, her head feeling light as a feather from whatever Andromeda had packed into the pipe.

Andromeda squinted at her companion, "It's not Harry is it?"

" _No_. Absolutely _not_ , that would be like incest."

"Hmm, I suppose it would be," Andromeda murmured, giving Hermione a searching look. "I still stand by what I said. You're quite star-crossed."

Hermione didn't know what that meant, but she resolved to look it up later, wanting to escape instead of prolonging the awkward conversation. Was it so obvious she had feelings for Malfoy? If so, how could she get them under control before she made a fool of herself?

"I should go back inside. Thanks for sharing," she vaguely gestured to the pipe, stumbling a bit as she retreated from the woman and the conversation, and wondering how Andromeda could still sit up straight after smoking so much of the strange herby substance.


	26. Lingering Reflections

Author's Note: I found this chapter very difficult to write for some reason. I hope you like it more than I do. Thank you i was BOTWP for your review.

.

.

Theo was a very laid-back host. Draco saw him infrequently, as Theo tended to barricade himself in his chambers and not come out for hours, or sometimes the whole day. When Theo did exert himself to be social with his houseguest, they often drank heavily and talked, just as they'd done on the first night of Draco's stay.

Draco intended only to stay at Nott Estate until he could legally return to his own home, but Theo insisted he stay at least until after Astoria's funeral.

Because it was nice to not be alone in an oppressive Manor house, Draco acquiesced with very little convincing.

He made himself at home in one of the guest rooms. It was smaller than his own at home and bore absolutely nothing in resemblance to that room, hence its appeal. The first thing Draco did upon realizing he was to have a prolonged stay, was to fetch his dogs, owl and some personal effects and bring them to Nott Estate. Theo wasn't big on animals but never said anything.

It became quickly apparent that Theo didn't keep any sort of schedule, so Draco often found himself wandering the great estate, dogs in tow, and exploring.

He'd ordered another renovation of the Manor in his absence, this time focused on his own bedroom. Draco didn't think he could set foot into the place he'd found Astoria's body without having heart palpitations, let alone sleep peacefully there. The room would have to be completely re-done and he would still have to pick a different bedroom. He had avoided using the Master suite, since that had always been his parents' chambers, but he figured he may as well use it now. He had that re-done, too.

A week into his stay, he stumbled into Theo's library, which was smaller than his own at Malfoy Manor, but still contained an impressive collection. More than half of the books expounded upon dark magic.

He found a relatively innocuous volume and curled up to read, wishing for the stack of books Granger had picked out and left in a precarious stack in the Malfoy library. Aries the greyhound, who'd often wound himself around Granger's feet as she read aloud, looked up at him with pining eyes and emitted a small whine.

"She's not here," Draco informed the dog, as if that would help.

Aries curled up at the foot of a seat opposite Draco and stared at him reproachfully.

.

.

Astoria's funeral took place two weeks after her body was found. It was closed-casket and Draco found himself glad of it. He was working very hard to try to forget the way her corpse had looked swinging from his bedroom ceiling, bruised and bloody, and he didn't imagine any amount of magic would be able to restore she beauty she'd been in life.

Instead, he tried to remember the way he had last seen her alive, at Abruzzese's socialite gathering. It was a struggle, only because Granger had also been there and he had been distracted for much of the evening.

The entire Greengrass clan was at the funeral, making it more than a little awkward for Draco. Helena Greengrass was very cold toward him, but assured him she would be sending what was due to him as soon as the formal investigation was over. As far as Draco learned, there hadn't been any breakthroughs from the Auror office regarding the perpetrator.

Draco had forgotten about the money entirely. He attempted to dissuade Mrs. Greengrass from sending him anything but she waspishly retorted that it was a requirement of the engagement agreement and of course she would comply. Mr. Greengrass ignored Draco entirely and the Malfoy heir was relieved when an acceptable time to depart materialized.

Theo had sympathized with him after the description of the ceremony and they drank heavily through the night until they were both obliterated, and were still drinking the following morning.

Draco slept all of the next day and when he finally awoke, having lost an entire day to the abyss, he was hoping to feel the warmth of Granger's body pressed against his chest. Before he opened his eyes, he _knew_ she wouldn't be there but was still disappointed when she wasn't.

That was when he first realized that Granger was really starting to become a problem; he was becoming obsessed with her.

He thought about the way she'd smiled at Abruzzese and agreed with the Italian that Draco was a good friend to her. Like he was a good man.

He thought about the dance they'd shared at Abruzzese's party and how her hair had curled under her ears and flowed like river water down her back, longer than he'd imagined.

He thought of how her skin had felt like soft velvet and how the rest of the room had melted away when he held her.

He thought of how she'd stepped into his arms without either of them realizing it and how he was sure she must have felt something too, because they'd both become oblivious to the world in that moment.

He thought about reading with her, discussing things with her – she always surprised him, even when he thought he'd figured her out.

He thought of her mouth forming words and how she read things with certain inflections that changed the meaning of the words on the page as he would have read them.

He thought about waking up next to her and feeling her glow of contentedness.

He thought about tilting her chin up to his face and tasting her lips for the first (and only) time.

He thought about the nameless thing inside him that inhabited another plane of existence and how _his_ had brushed against _hers_ and recoiled in surprise, only to reach back out to bask in the glory of entwining around her…

He thought about trying to draw her, because he bloody _missed_ her, but he was afraid he wouldn't do her justice.

Instead he drew things that reminded him of her. He drew the ballroom at Abruzzese's Italian mansion. He drew her hands: the fingers stained with ink and one with an indent where a quill had been pressed there. He drew scenes from the books she'd read him. He drew the loyal greyhound at her feet. He drew the patio where she'd first had lunch with him at Terrazza Mosaico. He drew anything but her.

He knew he should feel guilty about feeling all these things after what had befallen Astoria. He also knew he should be worried about the blood grudge and the likelihood that he would soon find himself face-to-face with the nameless terror that had made his life a living hell.

But he didn't. All he could think about was Granger.

The books he read, he imagined reading in her voice. The closing of a door down a hallway could have been her, just out of sight. The warmth of another body in his bed was surely whatever one of his dogs had fallen asleep there now that the weather was cooler, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut when he began to wake, pretending for a moment that it would be her instead, blinking at him with sleepy ocher eyes, her hair an impossible tangle…

He knew he was in trouble. Theo seemed to sense something of it too, because he pressed Draco to remain at Nott Estate long after the funeral was over and well past the time the renovations had been completed.

.

.

On Christmas morning, Theo woke Draco up by smashing a feather pillow into his face and grinning down at him like an idiot.

"I am going to _kill_ you, Theo…!"

"Easy, blondie," Theo countered, the grin still plastered to his face. "It's Christmas and for once I'm glad to see your pointy face."

"I didn't get you anything," Draco retorted, scowling as he sat up in bed.

"I didn't get you anything either, but I _did_ get an entire shop's worth of candy and you're going to eat it with me."

"What are you, twelve…?"

"Get dressed and I'll have the elves make you coffee."

Draco groaned and flopped back into bed. Theo hit him with the pillow again.

"I swear on my mother's soul, Nott, if you don't _sod_ _off_ …"

"See you in a bit, sweetheart," Theo answered cheekily, leaving the room and blowing Draco a mock-kiss.

Draco tried to go back to sleep – he really did – but the glee in Theo's voice was catching somehow and he hadn't seen his fellow Slytherin so pleased before. Reluctantly, he got out of bed and dressed. The coffee was still hot in the French press when Draco entered the drawing room.

"Here," Theo grunted, tossing Draco a licorice wand. "I didn't get a Christmas the last two years, so just _pretend_ like you give a shite, okay?"

Draco didn't have anything to say to that. It must be lonely being Theo, he realized. He was still very much the wiry young man he'd always been, bespeckled and scowling with a dusting of fair hair, now on his chin as well as his head. The entire Nott family was dead and Theo wasn't pursuing any relationships. Christmas probably _had_ been lonely last few years...

"Do you ever wonder if your Father was just _wrong_ about everything?" Theo asked suddenly, chewing thoughtfully on a pumpkin pasty.

Draco sipped his coffee and nodded. "I talked to him before he got the Kiss and he told me he knew he'd made mistakes and advised me to question certain things."

Theo's eyebrows raised in genuine astonishment. "Lucius Malfoy had _regrets_?"

"Mm," Draco agreed. His eyes glazed over as he remembered his last meeting with his Father. He set his coffee down to grab a chocolate frog, tossing one to his breakfast companion as well. "Theo, do you think there's really anything to all this pureblood supremacy shite?"

"You mean being of superior bloodlines? Yes, I believe it. But I'm not sure there's much difference between a half-blood and a Mublood. It's all tainted in the end, isn't it? Why does there have to be a hierarchy, you know?"

Draco examined the collectable card that had been in his chocolate frog. The great Merlin stared back at him from the small portrait: a fellow Slytherin alumni. Quietly, Draco admitted, "I can't really think of them as Mudbloods anymore."

Theo shrugged carelessly as he opened a chocolate frog wrapper. "I _do_ think there's something superior about being pureblooded. But I also think if you're not pureblood and you're still magic, what's the difference in parentage? It comes down to upbringing. That's where the Mudbloods are disadvantaged; they're raised like animals. No sense of breeding."

Draco mulled this over for some time. He opened a second chocolate frog and popped it in his mouth. "Do you ever wonder what would happen if you started something with someone who wasn't pureblood?"

"What, and crap all over my family crest? My _dad_ might be dead, but my _reason_ isn't," Theo sneered. He nodded his head at the chocolate frog card still in Draco's wrapper, "I got Morgana. Who'd you get?"

Draco reached into the package and pulled the card out, only to be confronted with the face of…

"Granger." His eyes took in her face, which smiled and waved up at him. Could he _never_ escape this witch?

"I forgot they put the _bloody_ _Golden Trinity_ on chocolate frog cards," Theo groaned, casting the card in Draco's hand a dark look. "Still… must be weird. Imagine trying to enjoy chocolate and getting _yourself_ on a collector's card?"

Draco didn't respond. It had been over two months since he'd spoken to Granger - two months and nine days, to be exact - since he'd kissed her as they sat on the floor of her tiny flat.

He'd fought the urge to owl her plenty of times, reminding himself that he was cursed, a marked man with a blood grudge hanging over his head. Everything he cared for, crumbled at his touch. He wasn't sure what he would do if he'd found Granger the way he had discovered Astoria that day…

Suddenly, here was her face staring back at him and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

He flipped the card over:

 **Hermione Granger  
** _Most notable for aiding Harry Potter with the research,  
_ _identification and destruction of many of the seven horcruxes  
_ _that led to the downfall of  
_ _the most dangerous dark wizard_ _of the modern age.  
_ _She is the only witch to have ever_ _successfully  
_ _planned and executed a break-in and theft from Gringotts Bank._

Turning the card back over, he thought he noticed a new cheekiness to the grin Granger displayed in her photo. When did she have time to break into Gringotts? He never even knew about it. He'd heard some rumors about escaping through the London skies on the back of a dragon, but had dismissed it as farce.

He had a sudden stomachache that was surely in part due to the amount of candy Theo had been shoving at him for breakfast. Draco glanced at his former housemate, who was now breaking pieces off a large slab of Honeydukes chocolate.

Draco swallowed. He knew he had to see Granger again, even if it was for selfish reasons. _If_ she would still consent to see him…

"I think I'm going to be heading back to the Manor tomorrow. I've lingered here long enough."

Theo shrugged. "Just be careful… and take your mangy mutts with you."

Draco smirked at the half-insult, appreciating Theo's friendship for what it was.


	27. Pendulous Inevitability

Author's Note: Thank you to Jo March, i was BOTWP, K. E. Degz, 4fanci, the Guest reviewer, and siewchee12345 for your reviews! They make me so, so happy. Also an extra thank you to 4fanci (sorry, it doesn't like it when I put the .) for teaching me how to fix mistakes I made in previous chapters. I've combed through everything and also used the suggested edits. If anyone else has noticed some dreadful mistake I've made (I'm sure they're there), please let me know!

Also... this chapter was a long time coming. Thanks for being patient.

.

.

 _I realize it's been months.  
_ _I'd like to see you, if possible.  
_ _-D_

The polite words were few, but in them Hermione could sense a subtle urgency. Maybe it was how the cursive letters – before so perfect they could have been typeface – were less impeccable this time. Perhaps it was the way the author had clearly been pushing heavily with his quill, judging from the indents of the letters on the backside of the parchment.

The doleful eagle owl was glowering at her expectantly. Hermione was very glad Toula was at a meeting and she had their office to herself to wage her internal war.

She had written Draco two letters in two months, without reply. The first had been on the occasion of Astoria's funeral, which had been covered extensively in the papers, and the second had been on Christmas, to wish him a happy holiday.

She wasn't sure why she'd sent the second owl. She hadn't intended to, but when she awoke on Christmas morning she could somehow feel that he was thinking about her. Hermione knew that was ridiculous, but it hadn't stopped her from sending the letter anyway.

She _missed_ him, despite her own wariness and Harry's warnings. She also had a strange sense of dread that he wasn't treating himself very well following Astoria's horrific demise.

Noctua hooted deeply, snapping her back to reality. She scribbled her response in the affirmative and – not wanting to seem as excited (…desperate?) to see him as she was – she suggested the end of the week.

Rolling up the parchment and tying it to Noctua's leg, the bird seemingly sneering at her the entire time, Hermione turned back to her work. The house elf proposal she and Abruzzese had put together had interested the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures and she had several scheduled meetings to plan ahead for.

.

.

Draco was well aware that custom obliged the other pureblood families to visit him and offer condolences after the death of his intended, and he had prepared accordingly. Since his return to Malfoy Manor, he'd entertained Cassandra Fawley and her brother Fabian, Marcus Flint, and all three Burkes.

Draco knew these visits were less a show of support, and more a way of letting him know they were watching him. He wouldn't be able to enter into any further engagements for two years, and they would make sure of it... not that he intended to.

He had begun to hate them all. Their condolences were cold, calculating and beat him down harder than rain in a windstorm. He didn't want to think about Astoria; he wanted to forget.

He did not, however, mind being a host; if there was one thing Narcissa had ruthlessly instilled in him, it was a sense of duty toward one's guests, even if they weren't anyone you particularly liked… _especially_ if it was someone you detested.

It therefore came as no surprise when Draco received notice from one of the house elves that there were visitors waiting to see him in the drawing room. He sighed amidst the stacks of parchment that'd accumulated during his two-month hiatus from the Ministry and set his quill down to mentally prepare himself.

He glanced at the clock nervously; Granger would probably be arriving soon, as it was her usual time for getting out of work. He hadn't seen her in months. A lump formed in his throat and he hoped his visitors, whoever they were this time, could be gotten rid of quickly. The last thing he needed was for one of the pureblood families to find out that he was entertaining Hermione Granger, an established war heroine and Muggle-born…

He hurried down the staircase and into the drawing room, pulling himself together as he went, smoothing his hair into place in the reflections of the gilded frames of portraits lining the walls.

"Malfoy," an oily voice greeted him.

Draco groaned inwardly. It couldn't _possibly_ be a worse visitor to be at the Manor at the same time Hermione was due.

"Lestrange," he responded coolly, waving to a few seats in the drawing room to indicate they should sit.

Perseus and his son Deimos observed their surroundings through unreadable, half-lidded eyes. Father and son were near mirror images, unidentical only because of their age difference. Both had thin lips, high cheekbones, and dark hair, though Perseus's hairline was admittedly receding and the area by his temples featured specks of gray.

"We came to offer our condolences on the… _regrettable_ loss of your Miss Greengrass."

"Thank you," was all Draco responded, knowing it would serve him best to be guarded with this man. He determined to say as little as possible in the hopes the pair would leave quickly and Hermione would simultaneously be detained somewhat at work.

The Lestranges seemed to be comfortable despite the cold silence. Draco was forced to make small talk through gritted teeth.

"Deimos returns to school tomorrow," Perseus informed Draco, as if he cared.

"Slytherin, aren't you?"

"Nothing else," Deimos answered haughtily.

The deep barks of Deacon the Doberman echoed through the Manor. Draco prayed a house elf had merely startled the dog by Apparating too close by. The added cacophony of Legend, Caliber and Aries indicated he had no such luck. Aries rarely barked.

A house elf poked its head into the drawing room to announce, "Miss Granger has arrived, sir."

"Put her in the library," Draco ordered, hoping his face didn't betray his unease. For the benefit of the Lestranges, he added, "I have some business to discuss with her."

The house elf Disapparated with a crack to do as its master bid. Perseus observed Draco like a shark contemplating a morsel. "Well, Deimos, there is our cue to leave. Mr. Malfoy is a busy man, as you see."

The two Lestranges rose and Draco followed them to the Floo, hoping Hermione had already been shown into the Library.

Again, no such luck.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise as the three men rounded the corner toward the Floo.

"Ahh… you must be _Miss Granger_ ," Perseus said smoothly, eyeing her eerily. He stuck his hand out, "Perseus Lestrange."

Draco was disturbed to see a glimmer of recognition flicker in her eyes and she warily extended her own hand, taking his to shake it once and quickly release it. "Pleasure," was all she wisely said.

Perseus made a show of conspicuously shaking out the hand she'd touched in a manner one might do if it had been dirtied. Hermione immediately caught his meaning and her eyes narrowed in haughty distaste. Perseus ignored her ire, clearly intrigued by Hermione's presence there.

Draco inwardly cringed as the older man continued, "Your fame precedes you." He then turned to Draco and commented, "Such interesting company you keep these days, Mr. Malfoy." His black eyes glittered disturbingly.

The Lestranges departed quickly, but Draco remained staunchly uneasy. The look Lestrange had given Granger had been positively predatory.

Draco stood awkwardly in the corridor with Hermione, unsure what he should say. She seemed just as shell-shocked as he was. Legend broke the tension by descending upon her, barking in happiness.

"Heel, Legend!"

By this time, the enormous Newfoundland had learned his manners. Still, he licked Hermione's hand wetly, panting happily and tongue lolling. The other six dogs spurted into the corridor after him to greet her.

"He's _huge_!" Hermione commented, patting Legend's shaggy head. She was glad to shove away the tense atmosphere the Lestranges had imparted.

"He'll probably be around 130 pounds when he's done growing."

Now that Lestrange was removed from the picture, Draco's eyes were rooted on the young woman standing before him like he couldn't believe he was really seeing her. He'd imagined waking up beside her several times a week, and here she finally was. She was just as he remembered; her unruly hair was curled under her ears where it had escaped from her severe bun at the nape of her neck. Her skin was creamy soft, her neck long and graceful, her clothing horrendous.

When she looked up at him, her eyes were the color of both amber and coffee and they looked worried; her brow was scrunched in concern. She took a deep breath, "Malfoy, I'm sorry about… about Astoria."

"I'll thank you not to be. I've had more than enough of that today."

Hermione appraised the young man before her. His eyes had reverted to hard, grey orbs, the way they'd looked when they'd shouted at one another in his office in their first post-Hogwarts confrontation. She remembered reflecting that his eyes were like the cold granite of a mausoleum… but death was so peaceful and final, in the end. Draco's eyes looked more like purgatory. Uncertain, undecided, lost.

"Okay," she agreed, the promise unspoken, and took his hand for a moment, squeezing it, then letting it go.

Draco had never experienced that kind of blatant friendship before and it startled him. He looked down at his hand in shock. Had she really just… done that? That sort of thing just _wasn't done_ in his family, in Slytherin, or amongst any purebloods he knew.

She was unexceptionally good in a way he'd never experienced directed toward him. Perhaps that had been the reason he'd kissed her.

Draco swallowed. Now – more than ever – would be a dreadful time for her to become involved with him. He could think of more reasons than he could count on both hands that would make it a terrible idea, but then stopped himself. She was _Muggle-born_ after all. He'd already kissed her once in an unguarded moment, and now he could safely be accused of being a blood traitor, especially if the scenario had been put before someone like Lestrange...

"Library?" Draco suggested as Hermione fended off the dogs swarming her, all clamoring for her attention.

"Alright."

It was like no time had passed, the way their habits resumed. Her seat, her hand-picked tower of books, remained the same. She wandered amongst the bookshelves the way she did every time she came there, the way someone might greet their old acquaintances one-by-one at a social gathering. Draco stood with his back to her, peering out the window at the snow-dusted grounds of the Manor, afraid he couldn't control his emotions and that they would show on his face.

Neither of them had mentioned the kiss.

It hung there, suspended between them, like a dewdrop at the end of a blade of grass. For how long could it remain pendulous before the tension became too great and it splashed forward? Draco didn't know, but he was afraid of the inevitability of that moment. There were more things to consider here than just his own feelings, buried as he tried to keep them.

The burden of everything Lucius had stood for weighed heavily on his shoulders. Kissing Hermione had just _happened_ , it wasn't something he planned to do, and it had been incomparable, almost ethereal. Yet this simple act had defied all his Father's - his _family's_ \- beliefs and teachings.

Everything he cared about seemed to become rubble. Astoria had been the latest victim of being associated with him. Sanctity… justice… someone was sending him a message that they would ruin everything he touched. A pureblood was killing other purebloods, which was just _wrong_ since they were so depleted in number.

In the back of his mind was the threat Ron Weasley had issued that day in the holding room at the Auror office. _Don't touch her, don't talk to her, don't even look at her…_

He wished he could be a little boy again, so he could run into his mother's arms and take comfort in the solace of her embrace when something terrible happened. But he couldn't: he was a man and she was dead.

 _Question everything Draco…_

When Hermione finally returned from her perusal of the bookshelves, her face bore an inscrutable expression and she shifted uneasily like a woman reviewing her secrets.

"I've missed this place," she murmured softly. Then, almost shyly, "I missed you."

Just like that, he crumbled again.

 _Damn_ the purebloods. _Damn_ the blood grudge. _Damn_ Weasley's threat. _Damn_ the _bloody_ _prophecy_. Had every ounce of his free will been snatched from him, forever?

Draco tentatively crossed the few paces that separated him from her, worried she might spook like an unbroken colt. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as he stretched out one hand to touch her face, the pad of his thumb ghosting along her cheek. She recoiled slightly out of instinct and he frowned at her, slowly pulling his hand back. She caught it and laced her fingers through his, managing an encouraging half-smile in addition to her inadvertent blush.

She felt her heart begin to beat wildly and irregularly as she observed his hard expression softening. He gazed down at their entwined fingers with obvious conflict and something like awe.

 _Thud-thud. Thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud. Thud._

Irregular and hurried, her heart raced faster than her brain, which seemed determined to be stupid. She vaguely felt she should probably be embarrassed at her body's reaction to his touch, but she couldn't. Her gaze was captured by the proud curve of his lips and _Merlin_ , she wanted him to kiss her again…

Hermione recognized her own frustration reflected back in his expression. Draco's eyes flickered back up to hers and he raised her hand, still twined around his, to kiss the back of it. Her skin burned where his lips brushed.

She knew she shouldn't be, but she was tumbling… falling… not knowing what kind of landing there would be below, and in that moment, not particularly caring.

 _Thud. Thud. Thud-thud. Thud. Thud-thud-thud. Thud._

They came together powerfully, like a storm crashing upon mountains. Time and space ceased to exist; for a moment he was not Draco Malfoy and she was not Hermione Granger, but rather two nonentities, melting into one another.

There was a sense of urgency in his kiss that she matched in intensity. Her breath seemed to cease and her lips parted in invitation. He seized the opportunity to possessively claim her mouth; she tasted like passion and chaos… the things a Malfoy was not supposed to be.

A stray strand of platinum hair fell out of place and gently brushed Hermione's face, lightly reminding her of reality. She pulled herself away and he took a step back, worried she would fly from the room, obliterating the last stronghold in his already-compromised citadel of sanity.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. His voice was both hard like iron and softer than a lullaby.

"I'm not."

He stared at her, frowning deeply. "Why not?"

She felt distinctly un-Hermione like when she answered, "I don't know. I should hate you, but I don't."

A sharp intake of breath from him. "I am one of _them_."

She recoiled, "Who?"

"A _blood traitor_."

She relaxed, not sure what she'd worried he may have meant. "You don't believe that."

He exhaled deeply through his nose and glared at her through narrowed eyes, "I don't know _what_ I believe anymore. You shouldn't be here. You'll be harmed and I'll never forgive myself."

Bravely, she raised her head and stuck out her chin to look him in the eyes. "No one would have to know about this."

She didn't know why she said it. She didn't know why she wanted him. She supposed even love was imbecilic and blind sometimes.

" _No one_ could know," he emphasized, not even taking a moment to ruminate on the idea. "I _mean_ it, Granger."

Hermione thought of Harry counseling her not to get involved with Malfoy... that it was too dangerous to get caught up in the dark affairs taking place in his life. He was probably right. Her ocher eyes looked deep into Draco's greys, trying to discern an emotion – _any_ emotion – but he was entirely unreadable.

"No one," she agreed firmly.


	28. He Doesn't Deserve Her

Author's Note: Another day, another chapter. I know they're shorter bits, but it allows me to update more frequently, which I hope you all think is a good thing? Anyway, thank you to i was BOTWP and siewchee12345 for your reviews. Reviewers are the best people, after all - and I love hearing your thoughts.

.

.

Harry sighed deeply and leaned back in his office chair, glancing out the window to his right. He knew the windows were only charmed to look like the outdoors and that the Ministry was really underground, but the blue skies and wafts of clouds that lazily passed by looked so inviting. He wished he were out in that sky, perhaps riding his broomstick with Ginny racing beside him. Even the biting chill of the January air would be far more welcome than being stuck behind a desk while reviewing the details of two rather gruesome murders.

He'd spent much of the morning reviewing a multitude of memories in a Pensieve. The memories had been taken from Aurors that had conducted the investigations for both Astoria's and Narcissa's murders. They were awful scenes, full of blood – particularly Narcissa's – and there were _so_ many nuances of the facts that it was hard to keep them all straight. He leaned forward and rested his face in his hands for a moment.

A small knock on the doorframe of his office startled him and he peered up to see Hermione standing there, looking classically Hermione-like… like she _knew_ something.

Which, of course, she always did.

"Hi, Harry," she began innocently enough, "I wanted to see if you'd like to take your lunch break with me?"

Harry glanced at the clock and realized he'd been supposed to go on his break over half an hour ago. Suddenly, the idea that he could _actually leave_ his office and go outside into that glorious sunshine could become reality.

"That sounds great, Hermione," he agreed enthusiastically and grabbed his jacket.

"Diagon Alley?" she suggested. "There's a new place that opened up. A little café of some sort, I think."

"Sounds great." He really didn't care where they went, so long as he got away from the murder files lying on his desk. There was really entirely too much Malfoy in his life these days.

They Apparated to the café Hermione suggested, ordered their food and took their seats in the corner where they could observe everything around them, then cast a quiet Muffliato. This was a habit incurred during the War they each hadn't shaken since.

"How is your case coming along?" Hermione asked far too innocuously.

Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he sipped his tea, "Fine, I guess. Still no obvious murderer, though. Whoever did it covered their trail well."

She took a deep breath, which Harry recognized immediately as Hermione's readiness to convey information to him whether he wanted to hear it or not. He was all-too-familiar with her habits from living with her for seven years as her best friend and fellow Gryffindor.

"I met Perseus Lestrange," she told him.

He hadn't expected _that_. "How? When?"

"Yesterday at Malfoy Manor. He was visiting for some reason."

Harry gazed at his friend in discontent. Of the three of them – Harry, Ron and Hermione – she had always been the one most respectful of rules and of doing the right thing. In fact, Harry reflected she was probably the most Gryffindor of all of them. Even bravery had its faults though, such as a certain disregard for one's own safety. Harry knew this because he had never much considered his own safety at all, up until the demise of Voldemort. After that, Ginny had started forcing him to contemplate what she would do with herself if he died.

"Hermione…" he began, intending to reprimand her for her recklessness.

"If you're going to scold me for going back to Malfoy Manor, Harry, you may as well save your breath," she interrupted him matter-of-factly. "Because it happened and it will likely happen again. Don't you want to know what I found for you?"

Harry glowered at her, "The only reason I am not arguing with you right now is because I only have _so_ long a lunch break. That conversation is _not_ over."

The waitress delivered their food to their table, which allowed Hermione a dignified moment to completely ignore Harry's last comment.

In true Hermione fashion, she produced a book from the bag she was carrying. Harry was reminded of the beaded bag she'd always carried with them during their stint on the run and searching for Horcruxes; there was no way the book could have fit in the bag had the bag not been magically expanded inside.

"I took this from Malfoy's library the other day," she explained. The tome was covered in crumbling leather, indicating its age. "I think he thought I was just perusing his library like I usually do…"

"Like you _usually_ do?" Harry repeated, his green eyes flashing. He relived the finding of the bodies from the memories in the Pensieve he'd sifted through that morning. He couldn't help imagining one was Hermione's.

"Stop it, Harry," she admonished him severely. "I went through a lot of trouble to get this, so I'd think you might be a _little_ grateful."

Harry ground his teeth irritably and stuffed some of his sandwich into his mouth while she explained.

"It's an entire book on pureblood customs," she debriefed, "including blood grudges. It explains how you enact one and more importantly, how to determine _who_ has one on _who_."

Harry sat up in his chair, interested despite his annoyance with Hermione's lack of self-preservation. "How?"

"Well, the enchantment to enact a blood grudge is simple enough," Hermione explained, sounding very much like she was explaining his Transfiguration homework to him. "It can only be conducted by a pureblood and toward another pureblood's family. It's not very binding though, really more of a formality – but it leaves traces of revenge magic in the caster's blood.

"This explains what Andromeda already told us," she continued, "a fully exacted blood grudge manifests as the murder of three family members. It is not, however, very insistent that those family members be officially related. Astoria, for example, wasn't a Malfoy _yet_ , but she was _going_ to be."

"I wondered about that," Harry mused, looking at the book with interest. "Narcissa was the first, Astoria the second… and Andromeda thinks Draco will be the third. So how do we find out who's got the grudge before Malfoy kicks the bucket?"

"There's a potion," Hermione answered, licking her thumb to turn a few pages until she came to the one she wanted. "It acts like a reactant. It takes two days to brew and is complicated, but not horribly difficult. The issue is in getting the reagent."

Harry raised his eyebrows in question.

"We have to get some blood from the one we think has enacted the grudge. Apparently the blood of the one who cast the original enchantment will show traces of revenge magic, as I said. The potion will have to come in contact with the blood and a reaction will occur."

Harry's eyebrows raised so high this time, they disappeared beyond his messy, black hair. "How are we supposed to do that?" he hissed.

Hermione chewed her lip, "I'm not sure… suffice to say, it will be more difficult than stealing from Professor Snape's private stores to make Polyjuice."

Harry slumped back in his seat. "I don't have any concrete evidence that it was Lestrange that murdered Astoria _or_ Narcissa, so I can't legally demand to obtain his blood for anything."

"You found _nothing_?" Hermione queried hopefully. "It was a pretty messy murder from the sound of it… surely there must be some evidence somewhere. Maybe the wards on the house…?"

"The wards on Malfoy Manor were set when Voldemort was using it as a base," Harry informed her, rubbing his scar in annoyance. "They weren't all cast by him either, so many are still in place. They're really weird."

"Weird how?"

"Well, Laurence told me that most of these old estates have all sorts of protections: some that inhibit visitors with evil intent from entering, or protect guests that are staying there, that kind of thing."

"Makes sense," Hermione nodded.

"But not Malfoy Manor," Harry confirmed. "Laurence did an extensive study of the wards during our investigation and found that they let in any pureblood, at any time. We supposed they _had_ to rid themselves of the protection against visitors with evil intent during the War, or how could they have kept prisoners there?"

"Like us," Hermione finished quietly.

"Like us," Harry agreed. He knew she was thinking of the night the three of them had been caught by snatchers and ended up there. Bellatrix had tortured Hermione extensively while questioning her about the Sword of Gryffindor, which was supposed to be in her vault at Gringotts at the time.

Harry's mouth set into a thin line and he remembered watching Hermione dance with Malfoy at Abruzzese's party months ago. "How can you stand going there?" he whispered. "I _hate_ that you've mixed yourself up with him."

"Well I have. We're friends. I want to help him."

Harry sighed deeply. "I don't have any choice in this, do I?"

"Of course you do," Hermione snapped. "It's _your_ case."

"I meant with where you bestow your friendship."

Hermione's expression softened and she reached across the table to squeeze Harry's hand affectionately. "I'm _your_ friend."

"I know."

"Isn't that enough?"

"I just want you to be safe," he answered guardedly. Harry glanced up at the clock. "Time to get back to work. Want to come over for dinner tonight? Ginny's making shepherd's pie."

"That would be lovely," Hermione smiled, rising from her seat as Harry did the same.

.

.

Hermione had barely stepped from the fireplace and into Grimmauld Place when she was assaulted by an excited Ginny. "Wait 'til you see all the pictures from the honeymoon! I've just got them developed!"

Hermione had barely seen Harry or Ginny since their month-long honeymoon and now she grinned at her friend, "I'm so envious. I've always wanted to go to Crete."

"We went to the beach, the aquarium, saw some ruins and lighthouses," Ginny listed off. "The locals all told us we should visit the monastery, but considering the amount of time we spent tumbling around in the bedroom…"

Harry cleared his throat loudly, turning red.

Ginny grinned widely, utterly unembarrassed that she'd spent the majority of her honeymoon having sex with her new husband. "…Anyway, it seemed sacrilegious to go, or something."

Hermione laughed. "I'd _love_ to see some pictures. As long as there aren't any of the naughty parts."

The girls erupted into a fit of giggles and Harry left for the kitchen, muttering something under his breath about checking on dinner, which they all knew was a lie.

In his absence, the girls caught up on gossip.

"Siobhan's currently in Bulgaria," Ginny told her friend. "She took off the week, since we don't have any games and she's only missing two practices. It's a good chance for the new reserve Keeper to get in some experience."

"Viktor is good for Siobhan," Hermione opinioned. "He's a real gentleman and she seems happy with him."

Siobhan and Viktor had been enamored with one another ever since the wedding. The two Quidditch players had a lot in common and Viktor's letters to Hermione had grown shorter, more filled with the pretty Irish Keeper, and less frequent until an exasperated Hermione beseeched them both to hurry up and start dating. It seemed her blessing was all Viktor had required to make his move and the couple had been a popular media item ever since.

"Gabrielle is moving in with Bill and Fleur," Ginny muttered, clearly annoyed with the fact. "She _says_ she wants to help with the new baby, but I'm pretty sure it's just a front so she and Ron can continue shagging like rabbits… how she puts up with him, I'll never know…"

"Ron's fun," Hermione explained with a shrug. "He's always trying to look on the bright side and he likes to laugh."

Ginny's brow furrowed, "You don't still have feelings for him?"

"Definitely not," Hermione confirmed. "But we're friends again. Not like we were before, but we're both trying."

Ginny seemed satisfied, then asked more tentatively, "How are things with…?"

"I think dinner's ready," Harry called from the kitchen.

Hermione found herself grateful for the distraction, as she didn't think she could discuss Draco with Ginny. Their declaration the previous night to keep their… whatever they were… a private matter, was not only _her_ secret, after all.

Harry picked up the conversation he and Hermione had begun at lunchtime, "I think you're right, Hermione. The potion is the only way. There just simply isn't any concrete evidence and the wards on the Manor seem to actually _aid_ in covering up foul play, no doubt thanks to Voldemort. We are going to have to get some of Lestrange's blood somehow."

Ginny raised her eyebrows at the conversation. "How are you going to do that?"

"I have no idea," Harry admitted.

"I didn't like the look of him _at all_ ," Hermione sniffed. "He shook my hand and then acted like I'd dirtied it upon contact. He probably believes in all that Mudblood propaganda."

"I wonder if Robards could get me authorized entrance into that house…" Harry mused to himself.

"I could go with you," Hermione offered.

" _No_."

"But I'm a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, too" Hermione insisted.

"The _office_ part!"

"Just because I'm not an Auror like you and Ron…"

"This has a lot less to do with being an Auror...!"

"… _And_ I have an idea what to expect…"

"…But you're _Muggle-born_!" Harry protested.

Hermione made a noise of indignance, "What does _that_ mean?"

"These sorts of people have _prejudices_ , you know that!"

Hermione huffed to herself but didn't argue.

When she finally left for the evening, Harry was both riled up and exhausted. Ginny brought him a hot mug of tea to soothe him.

"What do you think she sees in him?" Harry demanded of his wife as she settled into bed beside him with her own mug of tea.

"Who?" Ginny wondered, pretending she didn't know.

"Hermione and Malfoy."

Ginny scowled at the mention of their names together. "How should _I_ know? _I_ think he's a slimy git."

Harry exhaled deeply. "Most of the people who were rioting because they wanted Draco to be sentenced along with Lucius feel appeased now that he's obviously got a blood grudge on him. I'm not sure _how_ that even came to be common knowledge."

"People aren't stupid. They can put two and two together," said Ginny. "Some will be familiar with pureblood customs."

"Mm," Harry hummed into his tea. "He doesn't deserve her."

"Who?"

" _Malfoy_. He might have changed, but he still doesn't deserve Hermione."

"Well _you_ don't deserve _me_ either, but I don't see you complaining," Ginny responded, grinning and setting down her tea to kiss her husband deeply.

Harry chuckled into her mouth and shifted her nightgown with his hand, causing an intake of breath from her. "Allow me to endeavor to deserve you then."


	29. Whatever We Are

Author's Note: Thank you so very much for the reviews: i was BOTWP, siewchee12345, 4fanci, and lozipozivanillabean. A nice, loooong, fluffy Dramione chapter for you all as a reward for reading this far in. Maybe also a _little_ bit because I love Dramione and wanted to write some stubborn, fluffy goodness. More real, live plot to continue in the next chapter. Enjoy.

.

.

Hermione was almost late to work that Thursday. Not because she'd overslept or any such reason, but because she'd spent more than the usual amount of time picking out an outfit and appraising it from every angle in front of the mirror. She was not a vain witch, so the realization she'd done something so silly bothered Hermione a good deal. She'd even gone through the trouble of using the time-consuming spell to tame her hair.

"Woah," Toula effused when she stepped into their office, just as the clock struck nine. "Your _hair_!"

"Too much?" Hermione exploded, anxiously running her fingers through her long locks.

"Not at all. I just had no idea your hair was so _long_!"

Hermione thought back and realized it was likely Toula hadn't ever seen her hair down and tamed. Even at Harry and Ginny's wedding, it had been pulled back into an updo. Now the fact that she'd gone through so much extra trouble seemed even more ridiculous and she flushed, willing the conversation to end as she took her seat.

"Do you have a date after work or something?" Toula pressed.

"Can't a girl take a little extra time on her hair for once _without_ her motives being questioned?" Hermione snapped.

Toula grinned knowingly and dropped the subject.

.

.

The more Draco ruminated on how easily penetrable the Manor was, the less he liked the idea of Hermione being there. He brooded constantly about the predatory look on Lestrange's face.

Without a doubt, Draco knew his already-spotty reputation couldn't handle a scandal involving a Muggle-born. Surely, _she_ wasn't worth the trouble of covering up their relationship… right?

At twenty-one, Draco was more than aware of the fact that everything came with a cost. He'd even accepted the fact that he was selfish by involving Hermione in what was happening in his life. He was accustomed to being indulged and spoiled, therefore restraint wasn't a virtue he much practiced. What he wanted, he took. He'd just never expected one of the things he wanted to be the Golden Trinity's swot extraordinaire.

Still, Draco was no stranger to consequences; the War had seen to that. Living in the same house as the Dark Lord had quickly acquainted Draco with the concept of the hierarchy of power, and how easily life could be extinguished to achieve an end.

Following the War, Lucius had been promptly incarcerated, while Draco and Narcissa were placed on house arrest. They had all known this stint in Azkaban would be for life and Lucius had signed over all of the Malfoy property, with few exceptions, to Draco.

Purchasing a pardon for Narcissa had been easy, as she'd never taken the Dark Mark and the Ministry was desperate for funds to quickly rebuild a crumbled infrastructure. It also helped that Harry Potter himself had testified under oath that the Dark Lord could not have been defeated if not for Narcissa's lie on his behalf. One simple lie – that the Boy Who Lived was dead – rendered her an active participant against Voldemort.

Draco hadn't known about the lie until it was revealed in court. His Mother never mentioned it, so neither had he. Yet, it had been a decision with a consequence. In this case, the consequence worked out well in Narcissa's favor.

It had been much more difficult for the Malfoy lawyer to assuage the Ministry's anger against Draco. He had a Dark Mark, which was damning in itself. Never had he detested the ugly brand more than when he was forced to convince others how much he hated the damn thing.

The fact that he'd never taken a life, tortured a prisoner, or committed blackmail was his saving grace. That and the word of Kingsley Shacklebolt that Dumbledore had wished for the boy's protection, a year back. Other former Death Eaters had implicated Draco of cowardice in their court hearings, but Draco no longer cared about their opinions.

In the end, the Ministry was happy to extol a heavy fee for his pardon. Half of everything he owned would suffice. This was a heavy sacrifice, but Draco knew it was necessary for him to be able to start over. Perhaps his lawyer could have lessened the amount, but Draco didn't want to wait any longer. He wanted to get on with his life – a life he knew would be forever haunted by the consequences of involving himself with Death Eaters and Voldemort.

And the consequences of _Granger_ …?

He considered owling her not to come, even wrote the letter, then burned it. He made a loud noise of frustration, which frightened one of the house elves. What were the consequences of becoming a _blood traitor_?

Draco didn't _feel_ tainted, which surprised him since he expected to. In the end, he settled to owl Hermione to meet him at Terrazza Mosaico instead of the Manor. At the very least, he could protect her from possibly being discovered in a place with compromised defenses.

It bought him time to figure out how to end things with her, even as they had barely begun.

He Floo'd to his Italian property and spent much of the day wallowing in the darkness of his past, thoughts immersed in unpleasant truths. The sun was beginning to set and the vineyards stretched before him, bathed in the day's last brilliant light.

He knew Hermione had begun travelling there when he felt the wards shift to allow a visitor in through the Floo network. What was he _doing_? Did he _really_ think that just because they'd already kissed, that it couldn't get worse?

 _You're an idiot_ , he chided himself. _It can always get worse._

Stealing a glance in the reflection off the windowpane, Draco deemed himself presentable enough and reluctantly sighed as he descended the stair to meet her. He would have to tell her – right away – that their arrangement couldn't work, that he wasn't willing to sacrifice his damaged family name for her.

He saw Hermione before she saw him, and nearly choked. She'd done the thing that made her hair long, wavy and shiny. It reminded him of honey spinning from the comb in glistening threads. Had she really gone through all that trouble for him? He straightened himself up, feeling apprehension begin to control his limbs. What was she _doing_ to him?

They almost ran into one another as she rounded the corner away from the fireplace to find him. Draco barely noticed Donato making his timely exit and he certainly didn't notice the insightful look on the butler's face as he left them to themselves.

 _This meeting is a terrible idea_ , Draco told himself. _End things now, while there's still a chance no one will find out._

For a moment, Hermione simply blinked at him and he only stared, as if she were an unexpected ghost. They hadn't even touched, but he could sense her again as if they had. The pure, beautiful thing that was her essence reached out for his in the void, searching…

 _Don't be a fool_ , he reminded his guilty conscience. _You will never have another chance with this woman if you let her go now. Never. Decide later._

Draco felt himself shaking in anticipation as he leaned into her. He hadn't even said 'hello' yet, but his fingers raised her chin to meet his face, leaving warm traces on her skin where he'd touched her. He paused a moment to catch a stray curl between two fingers, tucking it gently behind her ear before he captured her mouth in a crash of triumph.

There was no hesitation on her part this time and they both felt themselves entwining around one another in an exquisite and now-familiar entanglement of selves. His lips were confident, hers soft and willing. He pulled Hermione into him, felt her shivering from his touch and embraced her, his warmth contaminating her chill.

She made a soft noise of need and yanked him closer into her and he felt a burning satisfaction, despite the reservations he'd felt only a moment ago. His tongue slid across her lips and she yielded. The kiss deepened; his free hand curled possessively around her neck.

Neither was entirely sure how long they'd stood there, but when they broke apart, four of the dogs had caught up to them and were patiently sitting a few paces away as if they understood this was a private moment and didn't want to intrude.

Draco felt his face was flushed and it didn't escape his notice that Hermione's was pink, too. He felt anxious without knowing exactly why. Draco was no stranger to the feel of a woman's body, but hers had felt positively forbidden pressed against his. Her soft curls shone like heavenly rays of light.

She was simply too _good_ for him...

"I missed you," Hermione revealed unabashedly, feeling the need to break their silence. Draco noticed she was wearing an outfit that was somewhat less horrendous than he was used to seeing on her.

"I don't think we should meet at the Manor," Draco told her, not responding to her declaration on purpose. He still thought this relationship was a bad idea. "I don't like that Lestrange knows you were there."

Hermione half-smiled at him, "I don't like that he knew I was there, either."

"Do you know him?" Draco questioned as he led her down the corridor

"Andromeda has mentioned him," Hermione answered cautiously.

Draco started at the name, recognizing it. Apparently, this witch was full of surprises. "Do you know _her_ , then?"

"Oh yes, she's a good friend."

Draco didn't know what to say to that. His lover was friendly with his estranged aunt who'd defected from the family because she married a Muggle-born? He wasn't sure what to do with that information… and had he just considered Granger his _lover_? He supposed they _were_ meeting in secret because neither seemed to be able to resist an unexplainable passion for one another. They'd come to the French doors that opened into the piazza.

"The wards at the Manor are compromised," Hermione informed him, changing the subject.

"I know. I'm going to have Theo Nott come and take a look at them. He's almost as big a swot as you are. He'll figure out something, I have little doubt."

The threw the doors open into the courtyard and the night swelled into the corridor in invitation. The magnificent mosaic stretched before their feet and Draco made to cross it.

"Wait," Hermione requested, her eyes captured by the artful arrangement of tiles.

"Why?"

"I've only seen it once," she breathed, taking in the way the mosaic tiles danced with the first light of the evening. The blues of the mosaic-river and the greens of the trees in the mosaic-forest were muted, almost to call attention to the twinkling lights of the stars and fairies that seemed almost living.

Draco glanced at the young woman standing beside him. Her eyes shone as she took in the scene there. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked away; openly displayed emotion made him uncomfortable. "My Father had this made for my Mother when he purchased this place. She named it Terrazza Mosaico in honor of that."

Hermione was surprised, likely because when she thought of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, the last thing that came to her mind was romance. She knew they'd had an arranged marriage. Had love come later? In her mind, she still couldn't separate the ideas of Lucius Malfoy and organized evil.

Her doubt must have shown on her face, because Draco added, "He knew she loved this particular piece of, ah… art. He must have arranged it just to see her smile. He was always doing things like that for her."

"What makes this art special?" Hermione asked curiously.

Draco looked away, embarrassed as he admitted, "I painted it for her when I was thirteen."

"You _painted_ this?" she gasped, taking in the details of the mosaic with a new light of understanding.

Draco only nodded. He felt a dull ache inside him and realized he missed his Mother. The stars were beginning to come out and he gazed up. Pointing above him, he observed, "Saggitarius."

Hermione tore her eyes away from the enormous mosaic courtyard – loud, physical proof of Lucius's adoration for Narcissa – and spotted the constellation, too. "Ophiuchus is right next to it," she added, gesturing appropriately.

Neither knew exactly how they ended up sprawled on their backs in the middle of the mosaic, indentifying stars and constellations. Hermione conjured some cushions for them to rest their heads on and the stars twinkled merrily above, the only watchful eyes upon them in their moment of privacy.

"Is that Aquila?"

"I think so. It's not very bright if it is."

Hermione turned her head to her left to gaze at the young man beside her. His pale hands were folded together, resting on his abdomen, his gray eyes fixed on the sky above. A comfortable, almost companionable silence enveloped them for a moment.

Draco's eyes were still pointed skyward when he broke the moment with a sigh, giving voice to the worry that was bothering him, "What are we doing here, Granger?"

True to her nature, Hermione answered very literally, "Living dutifully as mortals for a short span of time."

Draco snorted at her words and turned to her, a little unnerved to find her already looking at him and he wondered how long she had been doing that. "I meant specifically," he growled.

"By that, I suppose you mean you are wondering why – despite our obvious differences and our less-than-savory history – there is overwhelming chemistry between us."

He grit his teeth and looked away, but begrudgingly admitted, "Yes."

Hermione licked her lips and formed the question that had been burning in her brain for months, "Do you feel the same crashing and binding sensation I do when we kiss?"

"Yes. Did you use magic?"

"No. Did _you_?"

He shook his head. "It's a little unnerving."

"If by unnerving, you mean positively frightening, I agree."

Draco reached an arm out toward her and slid her toward him, nestling her into his side. Her head settled onto his shoulder and she offered him a crooked smile. His fingers absentmindedly began to stroke the inside of her forearm, reveling in the softness of her skin. Momentarily, a finger brushed the disfiguring scar carved there and Draco's hand froze. He withdrew hastily, hoping she hadn't noticed.

She had. "I'm not ashamed of it, you know."

"I am," he admitted, swallowing heavily.

Her eyes softened and Draco wondered for a moment, how she could display so much emotion so easily. "This," she gestured vaguely to the faded slur carved into her arm, "was not your doing."

"But I didn't stop it either."

She shook her head. "You couldn't have done anything. That moment needed to happen."

" _Needed_ to…!"

"Yes," she interrupted his outburst. "It needed to happen. If it hadn't, the flow of time would have been altered and who knows if we would have succeeded in overthrowing Voldemort at all."

Draco stared at her incredulously, but said nothing. A piece of her hair tickled his arm and he captured the curl between two of his fingers, toying with it. It was soft, like eiderdown.

"If none of that had happened," Hermione continued, "we might not be here right now."

"I still can't wrap my head around this."

To his eternal surprise, she laughed. "Nor can I."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Not knowing how to respond to that sort of gesture, he merely stared at her. Her curls were fanned out around her head on the red and orange tiles of the mosaic-dragon gliding through the mosaic-night sky dotted with clouds.

Hermione glanced where their hands were laced together and her gaze was caught by a piece of the gray scar that was only slightly visible from under his rolled-up sleeve. Knowing the reaction she would get from Draco probably wouldn't be a good one, she took a chance anyway. She felt him tense, but he allowed her to inch the sleeve of his shirt up until the entire Dark Mark was bared. He didn't look at it, but instead stared at her to gauge her reaction.

She reached her fingers out to brush against the Mark, the empty eyes of the skull with its mouth opened wide, from which the snake poured out, twisting around itself. It was faded and gray, like an aged tattoo, but permanent nonetheless.

He yanked his sleeve back down and glared at her. "Don't," he spat.

"Why not? You're not that person anymore."

"You clearly don't know that much about me, Granger."

She bit her lip. "I _know_ you're not that person anymore, Draco. Or you wouldn't be here, laying on your back under the stars, on top of the mosaic manifestation of a painting you made for your mother, with a _Mudblood_."

He winced at her use of the term and he knew she noticed. Instead of commenting on the validity of her words, he tried to sound nonchalant when he commented, "You didn't call me Malfoy."

"It seemed right somehow." She made to sit up. "Maybe I should go. This is a lot to take in all at once, for both of us. It's hard to go from enemies to friends to… whatever we are, in such a short amount of time."

Though he'd wished for her departure only seconds ago, Draco knew he didn't want her to leave just yet.

"I like whatever we are… for now," he admitted, also sitting up and wrapping his arms around her to pull her back. He pressed a light kiss to her lips, then added, "Hermione."

She sighed, feeling a sense of contentment coiling in her stomach, and agreed, "For now."


	30. Muggle Science

Author's Note: Bit o' lemon juice at the end and frequent cursing throughout the chapter. This chapter is the result of putting off scrubbing my shower. Haha! Much thanks to i was BOTWP, 4fanci and siewchee12345 for reviewing! I estimate we are about halfway through this fic, but who really knows.

.

.

Draco scowled as he paced the drawing room of Nott Estate. It had been almost twenty minutes since the house elf had gone to fetch Theo. He didn't expect the Nott heir to treat him like polite company – they'd been friends since they'd both been in diapers – but this was rude even for Theo.

Stalking from the drawing room, Draco made his way up the staircase toward a door he thought he recognized. Theo had barricaded himself in there for hours or days at a time before Christmas, so perhaps he was there again now.

Draco could hear Theo muttering to himself and tinkering with something within the room. The house elf was nowhere to be seen. Feeling more annoyed than polite, Draco rapped sharply on the door. The sounds within stopped abruptly and were followed by a short silence before the door opened a crack and Theo's head popped out.

"Twenty minutes I've been waiting in your bloody drawing room, Theo!"

"Sorry, Draco. I really thought Bindy made that up to get me to go downstairs so she could force me to eat something." Theo's stomach growled lowly, as if to punctuate the validity of his statement.

"What are you doing in there?" Draco pried, craning his neck to try to see what his friend was blocking.

Theo sighed deeply and cast Draco an appraising look before flinging the door open. It was only then that Draco realized this wasn't Theo's bedroom, but a laboratory.

The room was narrow but long, littered in cauldrons and chopping blocks covered with ingredients. Cupboards and shelves lined the upper walls; most of the doors were wide open, revealing various potion ingredients and what seemed to be hundreds of small, labeled vials of red liquid that looked grotesquely like blood. There was a base, metallic tang in the air that seemed to confirm this suspicion.

" _Potions_? That's what you've been doing this whole time?"

Theo nodded. "I know I was a shitty host while you were here. It's time consuming, this."

Draco's eyes combed the room once more. A low sofa shoved into the corner with a pillow and a mussed blanket indicated that Theo had been sleeping there. Three separate notebooks were open in various locations along the room. The furthest cauldron contained a substance the color of mustard and was burbling occasionally. Finally, Draco's gaze settled on Theo, who was looking pale and pinched, like a man who hadn't been sleeping or eating with any kind of regularity.

"You look like shite, Theo."

Theo laughed sharply and clapped Draco on the shoulder. "Always so charming."

Draco returned Theo's grin with a half-smile and gestured to the room. "What are you brewing?"

"Bit of a secret experiment," Theo answered mysteriously. "But I suppose someone should know… in case I blow myself up or something. Might as well be you." He drew in a deep breath and seemed to be choosing his words, which increased Draco's interest tenfold. Theo typically didn't bother with thinking about the consequences of his words before he said them. "I want to take graduate studies to become a Potions Master," he effused quickly, then winced as if the words sounded stupid even to himself.

"What, like Snape?"

" _Exactly_ like Snape," Theo replied. "He really inspired me."

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. "Am I hearing you right? Should I call up St. Mungo's? Snape was too busy being miserable to have any extra time to spare being _inspiring_..."

"Exactly," Theo agreed eagerly. "He was _such_ a miserable bastard, but potions were his _thing_. The way he talked about them, he just seemed to understand it all."

"Okay," Draco acquiesced, reminding himself that Theo had always been a touch eccentric. The Slytherin had spent almost as much time in the Hogwarts library that Hermione had. "So what's the potion for? Do you have to brew something to get an apprenticeship, or what?"

"Not exactly. I've been taking biology and chemistry classes at a Muggle university."

"You _what_?"

"That's why I was such a shite host before Christmas. I had finals," Theo confirmed, shrugging his shoulders in feigned nonchalance.

"But… why?"

"You ever read anything about Muggle science?"

"Of course not," Draco chided.

"Me either. I was pretty skeptical when I started," Theo admitted. "But this professor – he really understands how the world works, at least on the microscopic level. There's no use ignoring science; it exists and it can be proven. If someone were to combine magic with what the Muggles have discovered, that person would be _unstoppable_. Think of all the questions that could be answered."

Draco was staring at Theo with blatant incredulity. "I thought you detested Muggles…"

Theo shrugged, "They're definitely inferior, I stand by that. Muggles are born without certain abilities and that makes them disadvantaged to wizards, but it's a different kind of inferiority than I was raised to believe. More like a handicap. Not to mention their inattentive breeding, which is faintly disgusting."

"So why study at a Muggle university?" Draco was having a difficult time imagining Theodore Nott dressing like a Muggle and attending class with them without giving himself away.

"I've told you, they know things that wizards don't bother studying because we're effing _lazy_." A glazed look made its way onto Theo's face like his mind was far away, "There are so many things that can't be controlled, but chemistry… and potions… if you do everything right, you can get the same reactions almost every time. I can't control that people are always going to associate me with my father's demons, but I _can_ control my own future."

Draco digested this thought and realized, "That makes sense. My Father's reputation definitely tainted mine. Though I did a pretty good job mucking things up on my own, too."

"You can control it," Theo told him with conviction. "I'm not going to be the greatest potioneer there ever was and I don't know what my long-term plans are… but I _need_ to know if there's anything to blood. There has to be a chemical answer."

"You're trying to prove there's superiority in being pureblooded," Draco realized in astonishment. _Apparently Theo's a bigger swot than I ever guessed._

"I've been experimenting with my own blood and some Muggle stuff, trying to figure out the answer. The Muggle classes have been helping. I'm hoping to write a dissertation with my findings to get me an apprenticeship with a Master."

Draco didn't want to know how Theo was obtaining Muggle blood. Instead he commented, "No wonder you look like you're going to keel over. Have you been taking blood-replenishing potions?"

Theo shook his head slowly, "They mess with the results."

Draco's eyes scanned the hundreds of vials along the walls, stuffed into corners of the tables and crammed into cupboards. His lip curled. "That's stupid, Theo. I'll give you some of mine so you can stop slowly killing yourself. Then you have the added benefit of seeing if that changes the results."

Theo's eyes grew wide and he stared at Draco as if he were only really seeing him for the first time. "You… would?"

"Sure, whatever, just let's eat something first and I also want you to look at the wards on the Manor. They're all effed up and I can't… ah… have anyone there with the defenses pretty much nullified."

Theo's trademark grin spread across his pale face and he crossed his arms over his chest, "Found a girl already, have we?"

"Fuck off, Theo, or I'll reconsider giving you blood for your ridiculous experiment."

Theo dropped the topic, but the grin remained plastered to his face for a moment longer. "How bad are the wards?"

"The Dark Lord set some of them there and removed others. They're obviously still all wrong after what happened to my Mother and then to Astoria."

Theo's grin slid off his face. "Why didn't you get them looked at before?"

Draco shrugged. "Never much cared about my safety before now. They were always too convoluted to bother with."

"You thought Narcissa was a one-off."

"But then Astoria confirmed it was a blood grudge," Draco agreed, feeling a familiar twinge of disgust and regret at the unbidden image that sprang into his mind of Astoria's strangled face dangling from the ceiling over a pool of blood. The additional memory of the discovery of his Mother's torn-apart body, two years prior, vanished what little appetite he had.

"I'll take a look. I had to fix quite a few of the ones on the Estate after my Father died. Just give me a minute to put all this away…"

Theo ran around the laboratory, putting burners out, taking last-minute notes into one of the notebooks, and labeling the vials of blood on the tables, separating them into groups.

Draco leaned over one of the notebooks nearby with some degree of curiosity and read Theo's notes. Many of the words were so messily scribbled that they were illegible, but Draco was able to make out several small sections: ' _…high amount of sedimentation…_ ', ' _minerals examined seemed to be mainly carbon… some iron, magnesium…_ ', _'high amounts of hydrogen and helium released when exposed to…_ '

"Ready," Theo announced.

Draco looked up from the notebook, feeling he'd only been more confused by the notes. He wasn't even really sure what chemistry was, having only been prepared in the topics his parents thought a pureblood wizard should be expected to know. That list – while extensive – had not included any form of Muggle science.

 _I bet Granger could make sense of this_ , he thought to himself, feeling faintly inferior. Then, because he realized he'd reverted to her surname, he inwardly corrected himself, _Hermione_.

Even in his head, where it was just him, her given name sounded taboo.

The two wizards Floo'd to Malfoy Manor, where Draco ordered some lunch to be made while he and Theo took a look at the wards. Theo wasted no time; they trudged outside, where the January chill bit through their jackets. Draco cast some warming charms to keep them comfortable.

" _How_ have you been living with this shite? They don't keep practically _anyone_ out!"

"I'm aware how shitty the wards are, Theo. I want to fix them, but the Manor won't let me."

"It's a tangled mess." Theo cast some further spells and nodded as if the Manor had spoken directly to him. "The Manor doesn't seem to recognize you as its master, so it won't let you change anything."

"What? Why?"

"I dunno, it's weird. Are you sure your Father signed everything over to you properly? Untangling this will be a chore, but the protections _should_ be willing to bend to your wishes if all the contracts have been done up right."

"I'll have another look at everything," Draco huffed, vowing to contact his lawyer in the morning.

The boys headed back inside just as it began to lightly snow. The house elves announced that lunch was ready and they tucked in, in the parlor. Draco was still miffed at Theo for leaving him on his own at Nott Estate in favor of a potion, so he opted not to use the proper dining room. Theo seemed not to notice, and ate like a man who hadn't seen food in a week.

They were wrapped up in their own silent thoughts for a few moments, until Theo said, "I'm still in shock you managed to convince a pureblood to take you, with a blood grudge hanging over your head and a two-year abnegation period."

Draco rolled his eyes and tried to sound uncaring when he drawled, "Let it go, Theo."

"Seriously, though."

Draco sneered at his friend, but didn't answer.

"I told you _my_ secret," Theo wheedled.

"That doesn't make me obliged to…" Draco began.

Theo interrupted, "… _And_ I looked at your bloody wards."

Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek and shot Theo a glare.

Theo's eyes grew wide as realization slowly dawned, "She's _not_ pureblood, is she?"

Draco grit his teeth and sucked in a breath. "No, she's not."

Theo stared in fascination. "Now I _have_ to know."

"Well you can forget it," Draco growled.

Accepting this, Theo leaned back in his seat and surveyed his friend. "It's not serious, is it?"

"Of course not," Draco snapped irritably.

Theo seemed to relax. "I don't think I would know what to do with myself if we had to become the Sacred Fourteen because of you."

"May I remind you that _you're_ the one experimenting with Muggle blood."

"Well, sure," Theo conceded, "but that's different from banging a load into some Mudblood. How many centuries do you think it's been since there's been a Malfoy bastard?"

Draco grit his teeth. " _This_ , Theo. _This_ is the reason I don't tell you things."

"Hey," Theo protested, holding up his hands in defense, "you were the one who said your Father helped ruin your reputation. Imagine what _this_ could do? What pureblood will take you if word gets out you've repeatedly been fucking some witch with tainted blood?"

"That's why no one is going to find out, are they?" Draco hissed quietly, his eyes narrowed at his friend.

Theo caught the subtle threat and took the hint, " _I'm_ not going to say anything. Just be careful. The other purebloods are pretty pissed you've got a secret blood grudge on you. That sort of thing is pure cowardice, despite being classically Slytherin. But they won't give a shite if you live or die, if you've been shagging a…"

"I got it, Theo," Draco spat out before Theo could finish his sentence. Reluctantly, Theo changed the subject.

Draco renewed his promise to stop by Nott Estate the following day to donate some blood to the cause, figuring this might entice Theo to keep good on his promise. He wasn't particularly worried, as Theo had never betrayed him before, but Draco was naturally suspicious of everyone after the War.

Still, his friend's words remained with Draco long after Theo left.

… _If word gets out you've repeatedly been fucking some witch with tainted blood_.

But he _wasn't_ fucking her, Draco thought angrily as he lay in bed that night. An unwelcome twitch by his groin reminded him that he would like to, though. He punched his pillow, emitting a groan of frustration in answer to his prominent erection. Seizing his cock, he allowed himself to think of Hermione, and only her, this time.

He wasn't even ashamed of himself afterward.


	31. Heirlooms and Expectations

Author's Note: Thank you to i was BOTWP, K.E. Degz, Angy2015, annalyciareads, siewchee12345, Briianna, and both Guests for your reviews. I love hearing your thoughts! This chapter, however... I found very difficult to write for some reason. It took me a long time to get it to a point where I was alright with it, though I'm still not completely satisfied. I dunno, maybe you'll like it better. Hopefully.

.

.

"Criminal Case 9800292: John Yaxley versus Ministry of Magic, heard this 28th day of January, 2002. Mr. Yaxley, you have appeared before this court for your seventh and final time. We have heard cases for and against your crimes during the uprising of You-Know-Who. We, the Wizengamot, find John Yaxley to be guilty of the crimes appropriated to him. Seconded?"

"Seconded."

"A third?"

"Third."

"John Yaxley, you are sentenced to punishment by means of the Dementor's Kiss. This will take place in one week's time, in order for you to get your legal affairs in order…"

"My daughter is only eight," Yaxley argued vehemently. "My son's eleventh birthday is tomorrow!"

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you murdered children of their same age. This court is dismissed."

.

.

"What will become of the Yaxley children?" Cassandra Fawley worried. "With their mother in St. Mungo's and their father sentenced to the Kiss next week, will they have a home to go to?"

The Pureblood Society was meeting at Burke Hall this time, true to their tradition of never meeting in the same place twice in a row. Edward and Elizabeth Burke lived in the south, just outside of Weymouth. The couple had filled their home with the sorts of oddments and curiosities they couldn't sell in their shop in Knockturn Alley, including a number of obviously dark objects. Their son - also Edward - was away at Hogwarts.

"The Yaxleys will be sent to their maternal grandmother, who lives in the States, I understand," supplied Tahirah Shafiq, her nose wrinkling.

There was some grumbling around the table at this news.

"They'll come back savages, if they come back at all," protested Violetta Bulstrode. "I'm not sure that school they have over there will instill the right teachings a place of magical study should."

No one argued this, as it seemed to be the opinion of all assembled there.

"Am I right in understanding you've had your house searched, Lestrange?" Fabian Fawley asked curiosity, leaning across the table to make eye contact with Perseus.

Perseus's lip curled and his eyebrows contracted in anger. "Aurors flitting around my home just this morning," he confirmed. "Martin Laurence plus Harry Potter himself."

There were some murmurings of sympathy, and Fabian pressed, "Did they _take_ anything?"

"They didn't discover the majority of our family's heirlooms, luckily. However, Potter confiscated several centuries' worth of Lestrange blood that has been preserved through generations. Says I can have the collection back after a ten-day investigation period."

"They'll be returned to you," Marcus Flint waved the information away with confidence. "The Ministry has little interest in pureblood customs, as they've consistently demonstrated."

"Why would they be investigating _your_ home?" Fabian Fawley asked bluntly.

"Something to do with the murder of the Greengrass girl, no doubt," Elizabeth Burke inferred. She was a quick-witted woman who liked to keep on top of what was happening at the Ministry, without getting involved herself. It was well-known that she had a network of spies in government that kept her appraised of legal happenings. "I notice the Greengrasses haven't attended a Society meeting since their daughter's death."

"Who can blame them?" Cassandra Fawley posited. "Purebloods are so lessened in number and this was _obviously_ the work of a blood grudge. A pureblood killing other purebloods without announcing their intent?" She clicked her tongue in disgust.

"I've been thinking about that, Lestrange," Edward Burke said carefully, his eyes trained on the other man. "Who here do you think has a blood grudge on Malfoy?"

The room became tangibly tense. Burke's language had been reserved, but he had all but openly accused Lestrange of harboring the grudge. Theo sat up straight in his chair, but said nothing, his eyes cast warily on Lestrange like the rest of the table. Lestrange's eyes narrowed and he glared at Burke.

"Killing other purebloods at this time is madness," Tahirah Shafiq announced decidedly. "To kill off the very _last_ of an old and influential family would be true folly. How many families still want to be connected with the Malfoys? I'd guess most everyone here."

"By Salazar, I'd marry Draco _myself_ if I thought he'd consider an older woman," Cassandra Fawley agreed bluntly. She was in her late forties and her long, blonde hair was streaked with grey.

Cassandra's brother stared at her as if she'd gone mad.

"I wouldn't mind a younger man," Cassandra added cheekily, noting Fabian's expression.

This revelation did little to dispel the tension at the table, and Flint found his voice, reiterating the question, "The grudge? Who is it?"

"Is it you?" Edward Burke baldly demanded of Lestrange, the pretense of politeness gone.

Lestrange's eyes narrowed into slits, "It seems your wife has been flitting around the Ministry again, gathering rumors."

"This has nothing to do with my wife. It's cowardice to begin a blood grudge and not announce yourself," Burke continued, as Elizabeth stuck her nose in the air.

"With all the rioting the Ministry has had to quell, one can only assume Draco thought the murder of Narcissa was someone seeking revenge on the Malfoy family for their involvement with the Dark Lord," Arkesh Shafiq added. "Now Malfoy's fiancée is dead and the Greengrasses have been reduced to believing one of their old friends has turned on them, without knowing who."

"Tell me, Lestrange," Burke continued, "was it your intention to ruin relations between pureblood families? Because that's what you've done. You killed a Black. You raped and killed a Greengrass. For what?"

"Was the _rape_ really necessary?" Elizabeth queried quietly, her brows furrowed in sadness.

Lestrange bore the dangerous expression of a cornered dog, ready to lash out and bite. " _I_ did not rape that girl. You could administer Veritaserum to me and I would maintain that."

"But you _did_ murder her," Edward's statement was not a question.

Lestrange sneered at the other man, "Didn't you read the _Prophet_? Her chaperone – a Miss Grant, I believe – murdered her _and_ arranged her to be discovered."

"Under the Imperius curse, yes, she did," Edward pointed out. "And Malfoy's wife?"

Lestrange's silence was enough.

"So you killed Narcissa Malfoy. Brutally. Why?"

"Lucius needed to suffer," Lestrange spat, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Unfortunately, the one thing Lucius has always been good at is being slippery... he wormed his way out of _that_ punishment, too."

It wasn't a confession, but most assembled there silently agreed it was as good as.

"So you were going to murder Narcissa, then Draco, and kill Lucius last," Jacen Bulstrode deduced, speaking up for the first time. "But Lucius was arrested and his soul taken by the Dementors, so you turned on the son."

"Draco is just like his father. He will suffer, too," Lestrange admonished.

"Draco isn't Lucius," Theo flared up. His hands were clutching the table so hard, his knuckles had turned white. Lestrange's almost-confession had knifed through him strangely.

Lestrange's head snapped toward Theo to stare him down, his eyes containing volumes, "He is a _lesser man_ than his father. Weak… prone to emotion… falling in with _Mudbloods_."

The room became utterly silent and Theo felt his heart stop. Somehow, Lestrange knew about the woman Draco had spoken to him of, Theo was sure of it. Lestrange _knew_ … maybe even knew her name specifically. Maybe even saw her...

"Enough of this," Burke demanded, banging his fist angrily on the table. " _Remove_ _yourself_ from my home, Lestrange. I will be placing wards here to make sure you can never return." Turning to the rest of those assembled, "If this is the kind of behavior this Society is condoning – the brutal murder of other purebloods, the rape of an innocent young woman – I will have no further part in these meetings."

Lestrange sneered at those assembled, but left quietly enough. Theo didn't like the look on the man's face as he went.

"I'll warn Draco," Theo announced loudly to the subdued group. "I'll go now. Then, you can bet I'm not coming back to these effing meetings, either."

.

.

Hermione quickly tidied up her flat in preparation for Harry's arrival. Earlier, he'd sent her a mysterious note, asking her to be home after work so he could meet with her to discuss something important, though he wouldn't say what it was. She sat on the couch impatiently while Crookshanks eyed her from the windowsill, bathing himself imperiously in a patch of shrinking sunlight. The pale glow of day was fading to the early sunset favored by the winter months.

Agitated, Hermione tried to calm herself. She'd been amped up for hours after spending much of the day debating her house elf law proposal with various members of the Wizengamot. Many of them had house elves of their own and were reluctant to give them up, despite that Italy had done just that only a handful of years ago.

Glancing down, Hermione remembered her first kiss with Draco that had happened right on the floor by the couch she was sitting on. Her expression softened, though her agitation remained. Who would have thought she would ever develop feelings for a man with a blood prejudice against her? More surprising still, that he would return those feelings?

She knew he had claimed that kissing her rendered him a blood traitor. Hermione also knew she should be offended by that - but there was a voice, clear as a bell, reminding her that he couldn't possibly believe that with conviction _and_ kiss her the way he did. Even in secret.

Hermione tried to keep still as she waited for Harry. She glanced around the room and her eyes fell on the messy comforter that was bunched up on her bed. She flicked her wand and the bed made itself. It was the same bed she'd lost her virginity to Ron in…

 _You miss him_ , a little voice in her head reminded her. _You miss him even though you're glad it's over._

That was true. Ron had always been so proud to be linked to her, eager to show her off as his girlfriend. He took her on dates, laughed with her, liked to show affection in public by holding her hand or pecking her on the cheek. Hermione tried to imagine doing those things with Draco and couldn't. That was just so… not him.

Her eyes still rooted to the bed, she recalled making love to Ron. He'd been just as inexperienced as she was and it was almost a year before they had consummated their relationship. He'd been a good lover, concerned that she should receive pleasure as well as him. They were both clumsy at first, exploring the as-yet-unknown realm of sexuality together.

Idly, Hermione wondered if Draco would make a good lover. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined being naked in front of her former childhood enemy. The idea tinged her cheeks pink as her mind conjured the searing insult Hogwarts-era-Draco would probably have flung at her, regarding her nude body... Hermione somehow didn't think that's how he would react this time around. He way he touched her almost made it seem like he thought she was fragile, ready to break – unless he was crushing her into him in unbridled want, that was.

She began to wonder what _he_ would look like naked. Was he muscular or lean? Would the hair around his shaft be the same platinum blonde as what was on his head? Ron's curtains sure matched the drapes…

The Floo startled her back to reality.

"Finally!" she exclaimed as Harry backed into the apartment, somehow having turned himself around in the fireplace.

"Sorry, Hermione, I got a bit sidetracked," Harry apologized, grinning and setting himself to rights again. "But wait until you see what I managed to get." He pulled out a canvas bag and muttered, " _Engorgio_."

Harry reached into the canvas bag to pull out numerous vials of what looked horribly like blood. The vials were highly decorative, mostly in cut crystal with wide stoppers. Some seemed to be made of porcelain.

"What is all this?" Hermione questioned skeptically.

"It took me _forever_ to convince Robards to allow me access to the Lestrange property. Finally, after enough heckling, he gave me a warrant to go in on an anonymous tip. I shared some of the story with Laurence, but didn't tell him it was Andromeda that passed on the information. This morning, he and I went."

Hermione's eyes grew wide as she stared at the bottles. "And this…?"

"There was nothing overtly suspicious there, although Laurence found a few dark artifacts he confiscated, but nothing crazy. _However_ , I found all these vials in a hutch, on display."

"On _display_?" Hermione repeated, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Blood of Lestrange family members," Harry confirmed. "The only problem is, most aren't labeled and there are almost forty. I didn't want to look too eager, so I confiscated them all even though some are completely dried up and useless. I told Lestrange he could have them back in ten days after a standard Ministry investigation."

"I'll bet he wasn't too happy," Hermione observed, looking quite pleased.

"Not one bit," Harry agreed. "Rightly pissed, as a matter of fact. He's a slimeball if I've ever seen one."

"We'll have to start the potion right away," Hermione breathed, taking in the reality of what was sitting on her kitchen table. She hurried to her cupboard to retrieve her cauldron, and set it on the kitchen counter. "It takes two days to brew and the sooner we find out an answer, the better. This experiment may not even _work_ if none of this is his own blood."

"I'm going to need to talk to Malfoy, too," Harry added with a grimace. "Laurence spoke to him months ago, right after his fiancée was murdered, but maybe he's discovered a few things since that could be useful information. Do you think he would talk to me willingly?"

Hermione looked at Harry and primly said, "I'm not sure, but you're an Auror now, Harry, not a schoolboy rival. Not to mention, I'm sure he's just as eager to get to the bottom of things as you are. Perhaps more so. He _might_ cooperate."

"You could talk to him," Harry suggested, his voice heavy with insinuation.

"We're not _that_ close," Hermione protested, though it felt like a lie.

Harry looked relieved, though still suspicious of her. "We'll start the potion then. Let's go to Diagon Alley now and pick up the ingredients. It's the weekend and if the stars align, we can have an answer by Monday."


	32. Keep Calm

Author's Note: Thank you to 4fanci and i was BOTWP for your reviews.

.

.

" _Verily it shall pass… the line of Malfoy shall jealously guard in secret… for ten and five generations… a divination ensuring their own continuation… and amaranthine eminence… by virtue of one of their own. Heretofore the dragon sleeps… an upheaval of what once was sacred… a reckoning of the connection betwixt two souls… victims of hate and prejudice. The otter protects that which is ancient in nature… the liminality of star-crossed souls. Thither go to speak to the stars in the wandwood grove… erelong the northern constellation shall reveal the truth… to which memory alone binds us."_

The fuzzy, blue hologram of the bearded prophet retreated back into the spun-glass orb, which remained cold though it had been in Draco's hand for nearly twenty minutes. Light from the sputtering torches threw shadows across the stone of the walls of the dingy cell and into corners. The Irish Wolfhound had returned with Draco, a silent companion laying recumbent, if a little nervously, by the pedestal in the center of the room.

Draco had by no means forgotten the prophecy, but it had been a few months since he'd heard it and sometimes he wondered if certain words had got muddled in his mind over time. It was nice to focus on a word puzzle when there were so many other things happening…

… _The liminality of star-crossed souls._

Draco remembered Hermione's words vividly: _Liminality is… the threshold of the space in-between… like how the place where the sea meets land is neither wholly water nor wholly earth. It's liminal space._

 _This liminality then, is ancient in nature_ , Draco deduced. _The liminality of star-crossed souls._

He wasn't sure what 'star-crossed' meant, nor how 'the otter' was to protect it, but he thought he understood liminality quite well by now. It was the feeling he got when he kissed Hermione.

Draco closed his eyes and he could almost feel it. It was a very fundamental part of him he hadn't known was there, entwining around hers. He had wondered if he'd imagined it the first time it happened – but Hermione had said she felt it, too. It was a powerful knitting of essences, and hers was beautiful. _Too_ good, almost.

It couldn't be a coincidence.

The other part that bothered Draco quite a bit about the prophetic words, was the _reckoning of the connection betwixt two souls… victims of hate and prejudice_. If it made sense that Hermione had a place in the liminality of his soul (he cringed at the implications, but pushed them away), couldn't it also make sense that she was this other soul? She was certainly a victim of prejudice; the horrible slur carved into her arm was clear evidence of that. Draco hated the idea of being a victim, but it would also make sense that perhaps _he_ was a victim of hate. The blood grudge confirmed that someone out there wanted him dead, for reasons unknown.

Draco sighed. The meeting that morning with his lawyer confirmed that his Father had signed everything over to him just as he should have. The lack of cooperation from the Manor's wards were perplexing. The lawyer insisted he would look into the matter further, but Draco did not have high hopes.

He could stay here for now, despite the threat, but not when Hermione visited. They would go to Italy then. He wouldn't risk her safety.

There was a part of his brain that seized up and knotted itself into a mess when he recognized he was concerned about Hermione's safety. She'd somehow managed to become important to him… dangerously so, if their connection truly had a part in the prophecy like he supposed.

"Festus, come, boy," Draco called as he set the little orb down on the pedestal and made for the stairway. The Wolfhound obediently followed, padding softly beside him as he ascended.

The sliding bookshelf moved itself aside to admit Draco back into the library, but he froze as he stepped into the light. Theo stood before him, his head cocked to the side in confusion. "What the _bloody hell_?"

"You weren't supposed to see that," Draco growled, flicking his wand at the bookshelf to slide it back into place.

"Is that a panic room?"

"A wh…? No!"

"What is it, then?"

" _Nothing_ , Theo. You _didn't_ _see that_."

Theo put his hands up in defeat, "Alright, alright."

"What are you doing here?" Draco questioned, composing himself and ready to put the discovery of the passage behind him.

"I came to warn you that Perseus Lestrange all but admitted he killed Narcissa and Astoria."

Draco sank into the nearest seat, his eyes rooted to the floor in shock. "When did he say that?"

"The Pureblood Society meeting, literally just now," Theo informed him, sitting opposite him, "and you know, we couldn't stop him leaving, not with the grudge enacted. That's against the pureblood laws and shite, but I'll tell you, most everyone really just wanted to rip him to pieces."

Draco closed his eyes. Unbidden, the image of Lestrange running his fingers across Astoria's naked body, _violating_ her, made him see red.

"I'm going to kill him," Draco murmured quietly. "I'm going to rip him to pieces. I'm going…"

"You have to _keep calm_ , Draco," Theo urged, suddenly nervous. He hadn't thought far enough ahead past telling Draco about Lestrange's almost-confession and he was completely unprepared for the subsequent reaction. "Seriously."

"He _murdered_ my Mother," Draco whispered. "He murdered her and covered the room in her blood. I saw her…"

"Draco," Theo tried to say.

" _I saw her_!" Draco screamed. "Do you fucking know what it's like to walk into her room and see her ripped apart and bloody _mangled_? Do you know what it's like to see the look of fucking _terror_ on her face – the last emotion she had in this world?"

"I don't, but…"

"And _Astoria_ …" Draco hissed quietly now, "was always _so_ beautiful. I could have _loved_ her someday. Someone like _me_ doesn't _get_ two chances at that. _He_ took her from me. Took her body and then her life. Why?"

"Draco," Theo began. His friend had actual tears streaming down his face and Theo didn't know what to do in a situation like this. "You need to…"

 _To what_? Theo didn't know. His voice trailed away.

"I'm going to kill him," Draco said quietly, but with conviction.

Theo believed him. "How are you going to do that?"

Draco ignored him. "He won't take anyone else from me."

"I hate to tell you, but you haven't really got anyone left for him to take except you, yourself."

Draco's eyes turned slowly to meet Theo's and Theo was disturbed to see there, the eyes of a man who had already committed murder. "He won't take _her_."

"Her?" Theo wondered. Astoria was already gone. He briefly wondered if Draco meant his non-pureblood witch, but dismissed that notion since Draco had clearly said the relationship wasn't serious. "Who?"

Draco turned away from Theo and didn't answer. "Where is Lestrange now?"

"You can't go _now_ ," Theo protested calmly. "That's what he's expecting. He'll have wards up to prevent you from getting close to him, to protect him…"

Draco emitted a feral snarl and ejected himself from the chair, knowing it was true. He paced the floor several times, making Theo nervous.

"I need to know the exact rules of that effing blood grudge," Draco uttered.

"Well, Lestrange can't accept help from anyone not of his family's blood, nor can you," Theo told him. "Although he _could_ simply dissipate the grudge, but I don't think he will…"

"Where's that effing book?" Draco demanded, striding with purpose to the section of library Hermione usually tutted over. He began searching for the volume, running his fingers down the spines in a line and coming up empty-handed. "I _know_ it was here. I have to know…"

.

.

Hermione opened the book to the correct page and began making a list of all the ingredients she and Harry would need for the potion. Most of the ingredients were fairly common and some she had already in her stores. There were a couple things they would need to purchase at the apothecary and only one item that rare enough that she had never used it in potion-making before.

She and Harry had just finished gathering up the ingredients she had in her cupboard and making notes of what else they would need to buy, when Hermione felt a stab pierce through her chest that physically winded her. She uttered a loud cry and fell to her knees.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed in concern. He rushed to her side, "Are you okay? What happened?"

Hermione was panting heavily on the floor of her flat. Crookshanks rushed to her side and began brushing himself against her, butting his head against her hands in concern.

"I'm… not sure," she murmured in answer to Harry's question. She could feel a dull ache radiating from her and she thought inexplicably of Draco. "I think… Harry, will you just trust me for a moment?"

Harry frowned, "I've always trusted you, Hermione."

"I know, I know. Just… there's something I have to do really quick and I don't think you're going to like it." Amid Harry's protesting, Hermione stood shakily up and made her way toward the fireplace. Grabbing a fistful of Floo powder, she tossed it into the fireplace and cried, "Malfoy Manor."

 _He'll be fine_ , she told herself as she spun nauseatingly through the fireplace network. _Draco will be fine._ She tried not to think of the look Harry probably had on his face at that moment.

Her feet hit the floor and she took off toward the library without even pausing to collect herself. She didn't even know how she knew he was there, but there wasn't time to contemplate that now.

"I know that effing book is in here somewhere!" Draco was cursing from within the library. Hermione's hand paused on the doorknob; he seemed to be speaking to someone else.

"Draco, you have to calm down," the voice of another man was pleading desperately. "There are more important things to worry about right now. You can stay at Nott Estate for awhile and lie low, do your research before you…"

"THEO, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I AM GOING TO MURDER LESTRANGE!"

Hermione was floored. The fact that Draco knew about Lestrange's probable involvement in the murders was no surprise, but what had happened to rile him up so much? What else did Draco know that she and Harry didn't?

The other man – Theo – seemed to be trying to reason with Draco to no avail.

"HE KILLED THEM BOTH AND YOU EXPECT ME TO SIT BACK LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED?"

"Yes! For now, _yes_ , I _really_ do. You'll only get yourself killed if you go right now and that's only if you can _find_ him!"

Draco muttered something quietly that Hermione couldn't hear. She wasn't sure what it was but she grew even more intrigued when Theo responded, "If you care so concerned about this witch you keep going on about, you could at least tell me who she is so I can try to _help_ you."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"I can't," replied Draco's voice. "Go home, Theo. You've done what you needed to do in warning me."

"You know I'm not able to help you with this. The grudge prevents me – but you're the closest thing I have to... to family. _Don't_ rush into this. Plan it first."

Hermione frowned. This person – which she thought she inferred was Theodore Nott, a boy who had been in their year in Hogwarts – was _encouraging_ Draco to murder Lestrange! Had he said the grudge prevented him from helping? What was that about?

She could hear Draco sigh deeply. It was a sound he usually made before he admitted defeat, or lost an internal battle with himself – she knew because she heard it with some frequency whenever he was spending time with her. "Fine. Not today. But I _will_. Soon."

"Are you coming to Nott Estate?"

"No, all the information I need is here. I've got to find that book."

"Alright," Theo answered reluctantly. "The wards?"

"Everything's done up properly, I looked with the lawyer this morning. It's fine by me – if he comes for me here, I'll be ready for him."

Hermione hated that idea. She almost burst into the room and argued with him. The two young men said their good-byes once Theo was satisfied Draco was sufficiently calmer and Hermione heard the _whoosh_ of the Floo.

She pushed the door inward. The library was a mess. There were books scattered on the floor, some open, some upended. A chair looked as if it had been flung across the room and rested now in a broken heap by the far window. Hermione's eyes dragged up and saw Draco standing by the broken chair. He looked outwardly composed but there were waves of anger roiling off of him. She could almost taste it and it made her flinch.

"Why are you here?" Draco demanded coldly.

Hermione licked her lips as she chose her words, "You were upset. I was worried."

Draco frowned, "How could you _possibly_ have known that?"

"I felt you – somehow – that you were hurting. I know that sounds crazy, but…"

"Liminality," he muttered, almost so softly she couldn't hear, "of course."

"I can go if you prefer?"

"I don't know what I want from you."

The words were stark and cold, but Hermione seemed to sense they weren't exactly what he meant. "What happened?"

"It is almost certainly Perseus Lestrange who has a blood grudge on me, as I'm sure you heard from your eavesdropping."

"I wasn't eavesdropping. You were shouting," she retorted. "I didn't want to reveal myself. I'm supposed to be a secret, remember?"

Draco said nothing.

"You can't kill him," Hermione heard herself pleading. "Don't stain your soul like that."

" _Justice_ for him, though. _Sanctity_ , indeed. I'd like to carve him slowly into a million pieces and watch him scream."

Draco's bloodlust really shook her. "Don't, please."

"You don't have a say in this," Draco responded icily. "You are _nothing_ in this."

Hermione drew herself up, "I _care_ about you. More than I should, I'm sure. Don't I mean anything to you?"

She was ready for him to sneer at this notion, emotionally prepared for it. Instead his voice slipped out, quieter than snow-muffled steps in a soft winter snow. "Because of you, I am now a blood traitor… so don't you _dare_ question how I feel about you."

She crossed the room and stopped right in front of him, "Let me help you."

He sighed deeply, then pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head, "You _are_ helping."

 _Slow progress is still progress_ , Hermione reminded herself.


	33. Reluctant Collaboration

Author's Note: Holy moly, you guys! Thanks for your reviews, I _love_ hearing from you. Specifically, thank you to: i was BOTWP, siewchee12345, Amandajo101, 4fanci, annalyciareads, and fuzzy6. I try to update quickly. The next bits are all planned out, including some lemony goodness (finally!). Hope you like this chapter.

.

.

"Let me help you with this," Hermione repeated, her voice muffled against Draco's shirt. He was still holding her to him, chin resting on the top of her head. "I have been helping Harry with your case. We'll find answers quicker if we collaborate."

Draco pulled away from her slightly, his nose wrinkled in disdain. "Why have you been helping Potter? I don't want his help."

"Trust me, I'm aware you aren't Harry's biggest fan," she retorted, thinking back to their Hogwarts days, "but maybe we could just talk to him…"

"I don't want to talk to Potter. This is my battle."

"Talk to _me_ , then," Hermione pleaded.

Draco disentangled himself from her, realization dawning on his face. "I need that book. You have it, don't you?"

"Harry and I were about to go to Diagon Alley to pick up potion ingredients to brew a reactant that could detect revenge magic in the suspect's blood," Hermione explained quickly. Draco thought she sounded almost breathless, the way she always had when she'd answered a teacher's question in school. A scathing comment swept onto his tongue like second nature, but he bit it back. "We were just about to begin collecting ingredients when I felt that you were in pain."

"First thing," Draco began, flicking his wand to repair the damage to the broken armchair by his side, "I wasn't in pain."

"You were, I felt you…" Hermione began.

"Second," Draco interrupted, as the armchair – now whole again – settled onto the carpet of the library floor like nothing had happened, "I happen to know that _particular_ potion requires the actual blood of the perpetrator and I'm sufficiently positive that you can't have obtained Lestrange's blood."

"But, Harry went to…" Hermione tried to say.

" _Third_ ," Draco insisted, sending the books that littered the floor flying back to their shelves, "you have no business being at the Manor when you are perfectly able to remember the wards are wrong and it is potentially dangerous for you to be here."

"Will you _listen_ to me?" Hermione demanded, exasperated.

Draco arched an eyebrow at her, inviting her to continue. The cold look in his eyes made him look somewhat like Lucius at that moment and Hermione shivered a little.

She took a deep breath, "To address your last comment, I am _perfectly_ able to take care of myself, and _before_ you argue with me, I'll remind you that I grew up best friends with Harry and Ron… so I have seen and done things in my day that would curl even _your_ hair. While your concern is noted, I'd appreciate if you didn't treat me like I'm fragile, because I'm _not_."

Her eyes were flashing in warning and Draco felt an odd twinge of arousal, seeing her riled up like that.

"Additionally, Harry and I have several generations' worth of Lestrange blood sitting at my flat _right now_ – and yes, your book, too. If you come back there with me, Harry and I can fill you in on everything he's discovered in his investigation."

That startled him. "How did you manage to obtain _that_?"

"Harry launched an investigation on Lestrange's house and he confiscated them," Hermione shrugged. "Come back to my flat to talk with me and Harry and we will tell you everything we know."

"For the last time, I don't…"

"…Want to talk to Harry, I _know_ ," she finished for him, placing her hands on her hips bossily and pursing her lips. "Don't you think maybe this is a little bigger than what _you_ want?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. She had a point and he knew it. Still, it wouldn't do to let her know that. "In case you haven't noticed, Hermione, this actually _is_ all about me. _My_ mother killed… _my_ fiancée murdered… _my_ family's blood grudge…"

Hermione didn't fall for that tactic for a moment. "What if it was actually all about your mother?"

Draco stepped back from her and shot her a questioning look.

"Come back to my flat and Harry and I will explain everything to you," she promised, stepping toward him.

He stared at her for a moment longer before exhaling deeply through his nose in defeat. _How can something so innocent-looking be so indomitable?_ he wondered. He was annoyed with her, but also inwardly lauding her solidity. "Fine. I'll come."

A small smile graced her lips and she turned on her heel, marching toward the fireplace. Draco trudged after the bounce of her voluminous hair, restored to its natural unruly state, and reluctantly took a handful of Floo powder.

.

.

Ginny coughed wetly as she balanced her face over the porcelain bowl filled with her sick. She carefully hovered just far enough away from the toilet that she wouldn't be fumigated by the stench of bile and the lingering aromas of her late lunch.

For a moment, she panted heavily. The vomiting had been uncontrollable for the past quarter of an hour. Shakily, she flushed the handle and turned her face away so she wouldn't see the swirling contents. She went to the bathroom cupboard and searched desperately for an anti-nausea potion, finding exactly one. Quickly downing it, Ginny sat down heavily on the side of the bathtub, waiting.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her own pale, sweating face stared back at her, looking even whiter than her bleached linens against the vibrant contrast of her hair, which she had mercifully pulled back into a ponytail that day. Her sickness had given her very little warning before its assault.

She tried to remember what she could have eaten that might have made her ill, but her lunch had been leftovers from the night before and they hadn't made her sick before.

Just as she thought the anti-nausea potion might have started to kick in, she felt her stomach churning once more and knelt in front of the toilet just in time. The sickening spattering sound ricocheted through her ears, making her even more queasy.

"What… the hell…" she gasped, flushing once more.

A thought hit her heavily, as if she'd been plowed over by the Hogwarts Express. Her eyes scanned the bathroom for her wand and she performed the simple incantation. She had done this spell before and it had always brought immediately mental relief.

"Please glow dark, please glow dark," Ginny chanted to herself softly as her hand performed the last elegant flick of the spell.

A white glow emanated from her abdomen briefly, then faded.

Awestruck, the young woman cast the spell again. And again. And again. The same result every time.

"Shite," she cursed, biting her lip. Pressing her hand to her lower abdomen softly, Ginny felt no difference... yet. Soon it would become obvious, impossible to keep a secret.

Most importantly… how to tell Harry?

.

.

When Hermione returned to her flat with Draco, the first thing she noticed was that Harry had helped himself to something in her refrigerator and was getting crumbs all over her couch. Frowning, she noted him bending over the book she'd taken from Draco's library and wondered if he were getting crumbs there, too.

 _Really_ , she scoffed inwardly, _it's called a plate._

She felt Draco stiffen next to her as he stepped from the fireplace and into her flat, where he'd only set foot into once before. Harry hadn't looked up yet, though he must have heard their arrival loud and clear.

"I'm back," Hermione announced.

Harry still didn't look up, merely turning a page. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

"What?" Hermione queried, knowing full well what he was referring to.

"I warned you it's a bad idea to go there, Hermione," Harry answered, his gaze still pointedly fixed on the print of the book in front of him. "I told you it's a bad idea to get mixed up in his nonsense. Then, just when I think you're starting to come to your senses, you go running back there without any explanation…"

"He's right, you know," Draco drawled lazily from beside Hermione. "The Manor isn't safe for you. I've been trying to tell you this for weeks."

Harry shot up off the couch, wand drawn in an instant. His green eyes were wide behind his glasses as he took in the pair of them, standing by the fireplace. "I didn't realize you weren't alone," he muttered.

"Harry, _you_ were the one who wanted to talk to Draco," Hermione responded simply, crossing her arms. Harry lowered his wand, realizing it was still needlessly pointed at the pair. "I invited Draco back with me so we could collaborate on the case."

Harry's eyes narrowed, a mirror image of Draco's. Neither had really ever forgotten their Hogwarts rivalry, despite the years that stretched between the past and present. Draco's current difficulties seemed only to accentuate the idle mistrust that lingered there.

"Great," Harry breathed, almost sarcastically, "let's talk then."

It took almost ten minutes for Hermione to get either of the young men to speak to one another. She grew more and more impatient, finally throwing her hands in the air in exasperation.

"For goodness' sake!" she cried. "Are you grown men or not? My flat is simply _not big enough_ to house this much stubborn pig-headedness!"

Harry shot her a glance, but his hard look softened somewhat at her exclamation. "You're right," he admitted. He looked up at Draco, whose eyes had only darkened like an approaching storm. "For the sake of coming to the bottom of things, Malfoy… we need to work together."

Draco merely nodded once.

Hermione grew exasperated. Harry was cooperating, but Draco was acting like a petulant child. "Harry, why don't you start with the potion?"

True to his word about working together, Harry explained everything they knew about the potion and passed the list of needed ingredients to Draco, who eyed it disdainfully.

"Everything on this list, I have at the Manor," he announced, "except Formatogoria."

Hermione nodded, "That one is going to be hard to find."

"If by hard to find, you mean near impossible, then I agree," Draco snapped irritably.

"While you two were off dancing together at Abruzzese's party, I think Luna mentioned she and Rolf were growing some in their greenhouses," Harry informed the pair. "If we can use what you have at your house, Malfoy, perhaps we can visit Luna in the meantime and see if she'll give us any."

Hermione's eyes lit up at this revelation, while Draco's face tinged pink at the reminder of their dance. "Brilliant," he muttered without conviction.

"Now, I need you to tell me what _you_ know," Harry asked, leaning forward.

"I don't think so, Potter. I want to know what Hermione meant when she insinuated this blood grudge was all about my Mother."

"Draco," Hermione murmured softly, like a warning to be polite.

 _Hermione? Draco?_ Harry inwardly repeated, dazed _. They're on first-name basis?_

That was worrying in itself.

"It was Andromeda who told us about blood grudges," Hermione began, prompting Harry to continue.

"Right. Andromeda explained blood grudges to us," Harry continued, "but more importantly, she gave us information about Narcissa. Specifically, that she was once in a relationship with Perseus Lestrange, before she became engaged to Lucius."

Draco was stunned, but deft at not showing it, "My Mother didn't enter into secret relationships, Potter."

Harry nodded, "She did when she was a teenager. She kept it a secret for _years_. They considered eloping, but Narcissa didn't want to do that to her family, especially after Andromeda ran off. Lestrange convinced her to broach the matter with her parents and that was when she was informed that she'd been promised to Lucius. She had no choice but to break things off with Lestrange at that point. You will already be familiar with engagement customs, Malfoy."

Draco cringed, remembering the day he'd presented Astoria with her ring. Potter's comment seemed to have another layer of depth behind it, as if to remind him how recently he'd been tied to someone else. Or, perhaps he had inferred that all on his own... Draco wasn't really sure.

Hermione thought back to the beautiful tile-work of the mosaic that made up the courtyard of Terrazza Mosaico. Surely Narcissa couldn't have been forever hung-up over Lestrange, or lavish displays of affection like that wouldn't have existed.

"Andromeda is of the opinion that Lestrange is the type of person who would sit on hatred for years and years before finally letting it fester to the point of acting on it," Harry continued. "I've done a fair bit of looking into his family history, and what he's done with his life. He has stayed relatively quiet, never getting involved with Voldemort like most of his family, and been convincingly under the radar. It's hard to pin something as horrible as both the murders on someone with a clean record."

"Theo Nott all but got Lestrange's confession that he murdered my Mother and… and Astoria," Draco commented quietly.

"That, coupled with a positive result from the potion, could be enough to arrest him."

"Why do you even care, Potter?"

Harry didn't even miss a beat, "It's my job to care."

Draco frowned but said nothing. Hermione wanted to reach for his hand to comfort him, but didn't dare do it in front of Harry. Instead, she sent comforting thoughts his way, hoping that if she tried hard enough, she could relax him in the same way she'd felt his pain just an hour ago. It didn't seem to work, but Draco was adept at hiding his emotions when he chose to, so she couldn't really tell.

"So Lestrange enacted a blood grudge against my Father," Draco murmured, running his fingers through his hair. He'd always somehow known the grudge was a response to something Lucius had done. "What doesn't make sense is, if Lestrange enacted a grudge because he loved my Mother, why did he _kill_ her?"

"That's a good question," Harry admitted. "I don't have an answer."

"Astoria?" Draco added, arching an eyebrow.

"I don't know."

Draco grit his teeth, "For someone who is so convinced of a man's guilt, you don't have a lot of the answers."

" _Help us_ find the answer then," Hermione requested.

Draco's head swiveled to meet her in the eye and he meant to beat her down with a caustic look. Instead, he was lost: there was just something in Hermione's eyes that drowned out everything else. His train of thought crashed and he bathed in the coffee-brown of her irises. She was soothing, like a balm on his fractured soul. He was gratified to see her gazing back at him, seemingly almost as adrift as he was.

Harry cleared his throat, snapping them from their reverie. " _So_ , Hermione and I will visit Luna to obtain the Formatogoria, Malfoy, if you can collect the rest of the ingredients. We will meet back at your Manor in the morning, if that works for you."

"A confession isn't enough for you?" Draco demanded, "Lestrange all but admitted he'd done it."

"A confession we have no proof of, and an imperfect one," Harry pointed out, "as you, yourself pointed out."

"The potion is the best way," Hermione agreed. She was thinking about Draco's tantrum in the library, the upended furniture, his bellowed oath, "Before anyone does anything rash."

Draco frowned like he knew where her mind had rested, but accepted reluctantly. "That will suit, for now. How long until the bloody potion is ready?"

"Two days if we can get the Formatogoria," Harry answered. "We can start immediately, so we don't waste time." Hermione looked relieved, despite Draco's scowl.


	34. Almosts

Author's Note: Somehow these chapters keep getting longer and longer. Hmm... Thanks a ton to siewchee12345, i was BOTWP, Musicangel913, and fuzzy6 for reviewing! There is a sort-of-lemon at the end as a reward for reading this far in. Mwah.

.

.

Ginny paced the kitchen restlessly, checking the clock every few minutes and wondering when Harry would be home. She even tried to Floo his office, almost vomiting into the fireplace grate on the Ministry end when her head landed there, but Harry wasn't there.

 _He must be working late somewhere_ , she thought disappointedly.

How was she going to break the news that she was pregnant? They'd been married three and a half months and just last week they'd had a conversation about babies, both agreeing that they'd like to wait a few years and spend some time on their respective careers before becoming parents. The irony was, they'd had that same conversation while she was already pregnant. Ginny loved playing Quidditch professionally, and now she would have to take a maternity leave. Most women never returned from that in her line of work; it was like some sort of career death sentence.

She drummed her fingers on the kitchen table, lost in thought.

 _Will the baby be a boy or a girl? Will they look more like me, or more like Harry? What will we do for a nursery? Can we really have a baby here?_

Glancing around, Ginny knew right away this would be a bad place to raise a child. There wasn't enough space outdoors and there were simply too many stairs. The one bathroom was too small and not even on the same floor as any of the bedrooms.

 _This will never work_ , she was forced to conclude. As she realized this, fear began to creep in and worry settled into the bottom of her heart.

"Can Kreacher get anything for the mistress?" the house elf interrupted her thoughts.

Ginny smiled wanly at Kreacher, who was observing her with beady eyes. "Some tea maybe? Thank you."

There was another thing: what would become of this house if they had to move? What would become of Kreacher? She and Harry had begun building their life together _here_. She didn't want to leave those memories behind.

There were so many questions. Questions she needed Harry to help her answer.

Pouting at the lack of her husband's presence when something this important was occurring, Ginny's mind turned to other thoughts. How had she gotten pregnant in the first place? They'd been using contraceptive charms faithfully. Apparently, just as Voldemort couldn't kill Harry… nothing could kill Harry's sperm, either.

Glowering at the wall, Ginny tried to think of how she would reveal the news to her husband in such a way that he knew it was _his_ fault this was happening. Once she was satisfied she had the best thing, she had to continue waiting.

Ginny _hated_ waiting.

Glancing down, she cast a look at her stomach and placed a hand there. Unbidden, a smile blossomed on her face. There were so many unknowns about the future because of this little surprise… but somewhere inside her there was a product of hers and Harry's love, and that was beautiful.

.

.

Harry and Hermione Apparated just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole, far enough away from the Lovegood residence that they wouldn't be accused of intruding, but close enough that they wouldn't have to walk far. It had grown dark and though it had been a mild winter thusfar, it was still chilly.

"I'm actually kind of curious to see Luna's greenhouses," Hermione admitted as they crunched their way across the frost-laden grass that led up a hill. "We have a man named Archie Mudgett that comes in to pester Trimble about Luna's house all the time. Apparently she makes a lot of noise and breeds new strains of flora."

"She and Rolf are living there with Xenophilius," Harry affirmed. "They're both magical naturalists, whatever that really means…"

"I'm not sure how I feel about seeing Xenophilius again," Hermione thought aloud. "He tried to hand us over to the Death Eaters last time we saw him, remember?"

"Oh, trust me, I haven't forgotten," Harry answered grimly. "Before we get there, though… Hermione, why do I get the feeling you and Malfoy are more than you've been letting me believe?"

"I'm _sure_ I don't know what you mean, Harry," she replied, all business. "Ronald may have been able to snap right into a relationship following our split like it's nothing at all, but then _he_ was the one who left _me_."

That clammed Harry up, just as Hermione had anticipated it would. "I didn't realize you were still hung up over that."

"Oh, I'm not hung up over _him_ , rest assured. Just that perhaps I need a little more time to recover from the shock of being betrayed by one of my best friends. It would be negligent of me not to point out, too, that Draco's fiancée was murdered in his own home. Likely _he_ isn't looking to get into a relationship either. Not to mention my supposedly-inferior blood status."

"You seem to have given this an awful lot of thought."

"Just drop it, Harry," Hermione admonished.

He did.

Following its destruction during the War, the Lovegood residence had been rebuilt almost exactly the way Hermione remembered it. It stood on top of the hill, a black-colored cylinder, shaped like a rook off a chessboard. A little stream wound its way around the base of the hill like a moat. The main difference now, was the presence of four long greenhouses that stretched behind the house and bent downward with the curve of the hill. Attached to several windows off the main house, there was a plethora of streamers lightly fluttering in the chill air.

"Looks about the same," Harry commented.

As if to punctuate that thought, a sudden explosion rocked the silence and shook the ground. A light flicked on in the first greenhouse.

"Luna," Harry and Hermione acknowledged simultaneously.

Rolf answered their knock on the front door. He was wearing a pair of enormous spectacles that magnified his eyes tenfold, reminding Harry strangely of Trelawney. He swirled a little dial on the side of them and the lenses flipped outward to reveal Rolf's eyes. He welcomed them in and offered to bring them to Luna, simultaneously apologizing that he was writing a response to a consult for a magazine article and that Xenophilius was in his office editing the next issue of _The Quibbler_. Since that was what Harry and Hermione had hoped for, they didn't mind one bit.

"Luna?" Rolf called into the first greenhouse. A loud giggling answered him. He turned to a nearby bush of gardenias and said, "Shut it, you."

The gardenias continued chuckling. Harry stared.

"Hello, Harry. Hello, Hermione," Luna's airy voice wafted to them.

"It was nice to see you," Rolf excused himself with a oddly formal bow to the two visitors. The gardenias continued to chortle at him until he was gone.

"Sorry to burst in on you like this, Luna," Harry apologized.

"Unexpected friends are the best kind," she replied honestly. Her wand was tucked behind her ear for safe keeping and she was wearing a pair of vibrant purple overalls that were covered in scorch marks. "Actually you have good timing because I think the rosebushes have gone to bed for the night."

She gestured to the rosebushes along the back wall and Hermione was gratified to see the subject of some of Archie Mudgett's complaints. The roses did indeed have sharp fangs within the heads of the flowers and the plants seemed to be swaying slightly within their plot, like they might jump out at any moment.

"They're teething," Luna explained.

"And these?" Harry wondered, gesturing to the noisy gardenias, who were still sniggering.

"Giggling Gardenias. I'm hoping to breed them so they aren't so noisy. I was thinking people might like them around to cheer them up when they're sad."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry answered diplomatically.

"Actually we were wondering if you could help us," Hermione interjected. "We need some Formatogoria for a potion we're brewing. You don't happen to have any, do you? Harry thought he remembered you mentioning you were growing some at Abruzzese's party."

"Certainly," Luna shrugged. "Follow me."

They twisted their way though the meandering pathways of the greenhouses, past the Exploding Sugarcane (these tended to leave one covered in sticky brown goo when they exploded), Elephant Shrubs (these trumpeted like real elephants when pruned), and a Talking Pea Tree (this seemed mostly to speak in riddles). Hermione was starting to see what Mudgett was complaining about. _Most of the things here are rather obstreperous._

"Here we are," announced Luna, coming to a stop in front of a spindly bush sparsely decorated with small blue flowers. "How much do you need?"

"Three flowers," Hermione answered promptly, having memorized the ingredient list.

"Help yourself."

.

.

"I will meet you here tomorrow before we go to Malfoy's to start the potion."

"That sounds good. Do you want any tea?"

"No, I should go. Ginny's probably wondering where I've been."

"I'll hold on to the Formatogoria. There's a jar around here somewhere we can keep it in for now…"

Draco listened quietly as Harry said his good-byes to Hermione and Floo'd away. He hadn't left when the other two had Apparated away. Instead, curiosity had got the better of him and he'd spent the better part of an hour examining Hemrione's flat in her absence. Now he sat on the edge of her bed, obscured by a bookshelf she'd placed strategically in the long floor of the studio to give her sleeping area some additional privacy. Beside him was her nightstand, upon which was a framed photograph of Hermione, Harry and Ron, clearly taken while they were all at Hogwarts. Each was sporting a Gryffindor scarf, snow was falling, and the trio was laughing at a joke long-since passed. The Hermione in the photograph's eyes were sparkling and each of the boys had an arm slung over her shoulder as they grinned – like they were reminding him that she was _theirs_ and not his.

Draco hated the picture.

Presently, Hermione began to rummage in her closet, still not noticing Draco's presence. She extracted some sleepwear and pulled her jumper over her head, tossing it aside. She began to unbutton the blouse she'd worn to work that day and shrugged it off, tossing it into a receptacle in the bottom of the closet. She was wearing only a thin chemise and her pants as she began to hop out of her socks.

Draco knew he should announce himself somehow, despite that he desperately wanted her to continue. Still, he'd stayed behind for a reason and that reason _wasn't_ to secretly ogle Hermione as she stripped out of her clothes. The photograph seemed to be judging him.

Draco cleared his throat loudly. Hermione whirled around, her wand in her hand. She lowered it when she saw it was him, but her arms slowly moved to cover her chest, which was barely concealed beneath her chemise.

"What… what are you doing back here, Draco? We were going to meet up in the morning at the Manor…"

"I never left," he answered simply, rising from the edge of her bed.

"You've been here this _whole time_?" she demanded, suddenly angry. "You don't have any right to go through my things!"

"I didn't go through your things."

Her brows furrowed, "You were supposed to go back to the Manor to see if you have all the ingredients we need…"

"I already know I have all the ingredients we need."

"What were you doing here, then?"

He didn't answer right away. Hermione waited, sensing the internal battle he was waging with himself. Draco grit his teeth and finally replied, "Paving the road to hell."

"I don't understand."

He glanced at her swiftly. "I'm trying to reconcile myself to the fact that I'm not trying to break down the gate to the Lestrange's compound right now. I thought maybe you could talk me out of it. He deserves to be stripped of his flesh, inch by inch."

Hermione sucked in a deep breath and shuddered. Draco couldn't help but notice that when she inhaled, her breasts swelled deliciously. He wanted to reach out and crush her to him, claim her mouth, and… then what? He shook the thought from his head. He'd spent much of the evening in a state of bloodthirstiness but when he looked at Hermione, it all seemed a lot less important.

"I hate it when you talk like that," she murmured, rubbing her arms as if she'd been overcome by a chill.

"I have been sitting here, contemplating why I'm not _there_ ," he told her in a slow, deliberate voice. "Then I wondered if it was because I'm cowardly."

"I don't think you are."

He emitted a small, dark laugh, "Malfoys don't like to be on the frontlines. That is how it's always been. Better to make a king than to be a king, as my Father used to say. Still, when the moment is called for, it is necessary to step into the forefront. I have been called from the shadows… why do I still lurk there?"

Hermione licked her lips. "Sometimes its necessary to gather the information first. To make sure you're making a wise and correct decision before you jump unknowingly into something."

Draco ruminated on this for a moment. He knew she had a point. Most of the decisions he'd made in his life had been impulsive and they'd brought him only ruination. He looked up sharply at Hermione, but wasn't sure what to say; _their_ arrangement had been awfully impulsive, too...

"And _this?_ " he queried, gesturing between himself and her.

She swallowed. "Can I ask you something?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

She seemed to be appraising him as she asked, "If I was exactly the same as I am now, but a pureblood… how would you feel about me?"

 _But that's not reality_ , his brain insisted stubbornly. Heartbeat roaring like a warning in his ears, Draco cringed at his answer before he even uttered it. "I would never let you go."

She crossed the room and flung herself onto him with such force that they collapsed onto the bed. He crushed his lips to hers and he could taste a warm hunger in her mouth. Simultaneously, separate selves blended in their familiar interweaving. Her body felt delicious pressing against his, the soft mounds of her breasts heaving against his chest.

Draco placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her into him needfully. Her response was frenzied; she kissed him roughly, pushing her tongue into his. With a growl, he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her off of him, flipping her onto her back on the bed beside him. He crawled atop her and she could feel the heavy press of his torso on hers. She gasped as his mouth moved to her neck.

His hips ground onto hers and she could feel his hardness. A familiar throbbing sense of need coiled in her belly and a flush of heat spread between her thighs. She groaned in frustration.

The sound drove Draco wild. He bit down on her neck, making her gasp. Their connection seared confidently through them, along with a feeling that this was _right_ … to _keep going_. A wave of arousal seemed to tangibly roll off their tangled bodies.

Hermione grabbed Draco's hand and cupped it beneath her breast in encouragement. She didn't want him to stop, come what may. He paused briefly before giving it a gentle squeeze. He stopped kissing her neck then and Hermione _felt_ more than heard the vibration of his low moan as he fondled her chest. She felt an insistent, wet throbbing between her legs and squirmed as Draco's hands drifted further down her torso, along the curve of her waist…

She unsnared a hand from his hair, capturing his mouth once more and trailing her hand downward until she pressed against his hardness. She felt him shudder against her as she rubbed him through his trousers. Grabbing a handful of his member along with the fabric of his pants, she moved her hand against his length.

His hips bucked against their will and Draco was overcome by how tight his trousers had become against his erection. He felt an overwhelming sense of pleasure, and a need to take more from her. He couldn't seem to get enough.

A small voice in the back of his mind shot forth unexpectedly, _Stop, stop, stop!_

He froze, then wrenched himself from her, flying off the bed. She squeaked in surprise as he tore himself away. She could see the outline of his stiffened cock straining against his pants – proof that he'd been enjoying himself as much as she had – but the look in his eyes killed her. She felt a jolt of rejection as she recognized the main emotion displayed there was horror.

"I should go," he muttered, his voice still thick with lust. He felt dazed by the intensity with which they had crashed together, but a swirling terror had also gripped him tightly and he knew he had to leave immediately. This was _too_ much. It was _never_ supposed to go this far.

When the sound of the Floo being activated died away, Hermione was left alone, feeling jilted. Anxiety set in and there was nothing to comfort her. Her only company was the disappointed memory of their almost-lovemaking and the crumpled sheets.


	35. Morning Snowfall

Author's Note: Thanks _tons_ and _tons_ to 4fanci, I was BOTWP, K. E. Degz, RiverTamXO, Natalia Kerkova, siewchee12345, the Guest reviewers, and Maramalolz for your wonderful reviews. I totally appreciate them, for real. I hope you all don't hate me too much after the last chapter. This one is the result of insomnia and not wanting to study for my physics exam. If you notice any hideous errors in spelling or some other misdeed, please let me know so I can fix it!

.

.

The newly refurbished master bedroom of Malfoy Manor was almost unrecognizable, but for the octagonal shape of the room and the pillars that rose from the floor into the prism of the domed ceiling. There, they blossomed into an enormous central keystone, upon which was painted a twisting family tree detailing all the Malfoys from the past several centuries. Older sections were faded, while the newer were vivid and prominent. Unlike many wizarding paintings, this one did not move, likely to avoid the unsettling arrangement of having generations of your ancestors watch you as you slept.

On the far side of the room was a balcony that offered a spectacular view of the fields and forests beyond the Manor, dimly lit by a sliver of a waxing gibbous. This was where Draco now sat, wrapped in a forest-green blanket, watching the snow fall.

He hadn't slept that night.

 _She's a Muggle-born. You can't get involved with a Muggle-born_ , he reminded himself.

 _You are already involved with her_ , a second opinion pointed out to the first. _You've kissed her, and now done more. Feeling sullied? No? That's because it doesn't actually mean anything. It's not like you're marrying her._

 _Of course I'm not marrying her. That was never a factor…_

Unbidden, her words from the previous evening rose to the forefront of his mind: _If I was exactly the same as I am now, but a pureblood... how would you feel about me?_

He knew he would have married her in a heartbeat.

The way Hermione's body had felt pressed against his had felt so excellent, so correct. Her spirit was otherworldly – too good for him – almost heavenly. Her mind was sharp, but also deep with knowledge. Then, though he certainly hadn't seen it during their Hogwarts days… she, herself, was beautiful. She wasn't a classic kind of elegant beauty, or even a fashionably modern beauty. She was Hermione: her beauty stemmed from the way she held herself with confidence, the ink blotted onto her fingertips, the soft curve of her body, the array of open expressions she could display in her ocher eyes…

She had trusted him with that beauty and he had tucked his tail between his legs and fled. Draco was more ashamed of himself now than he had ever been, and _that_ was an accomplishment.

 _Question everything, Draco..._

The whisper of his Father's voice was like a ghost standing beside him in judgment of all he did and said.

"I'm sure this wasn't what you meant," Draco murmured into the night, as if Lucius were standing right beside him.

 _I've had plenty of time to reflect on what else I may have been wrong about_ , whispered the memory. What those things might be, Draco would never know – and now more than ever, he regretted not asking when he had the chance. _Always question everything._

It was singularly poignant that Draco had spent years sharing a roof with his Father, but only when Lucius was gone forever did he have questions for him. Questions about the life that had been foisted upon him. Questions about things he'd been taught to believe since birth.

Snow was collecting on the treetops of the forest stretched before him. The darkness of evergreens were silent sentinels against the night, guardians closing in on the compound that held so many of Draco's cherished childhood memories, later to be replaced by innumerable horrors.

Nestled into the blanket beside him, dotted with snowflakes that melted rapidly upon contact, was a small book he'd taken from the stack Hermione had placed in the library months ago. It was one of the few volumes she'd chosen to leave there that actually belonged to her: a small collection of Muggle poems from a different age.

When she had made the stack, she'd explained her reasoning behind the presence of every book there, except this one. Perhaps she thought he wouldn't notice.

He'd taken the little book and read through it before. It had been a fixture on his nightstand for months, but if she'd noticed its absence from the stack in the library, Hermione hadn't commented on it.

"She walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;  
Thus mellowed to that tender light  
Which heaven to gaudy day denies…"*

He remembered his conviction to break things off with Hermione when they'd met at Terrazza Mosaico after a months-long hiatus, and how that decision had crumbled to dust the moment he'd come back into contact with her.

Draco closed the book with a snap. _You're going to drive yourself mad… and wouldn't that be a fitting ending to the Malfoy line?_ Standing, he shook the snow from his hair and dragged himself back inside where the air was stifling and hot from the fire burning in the grate. Shadows flickered on the walls like demons. He wanted to be anywhere but there.

Shouldering into a warm sweater, he opted to Floo to Nott Estate. It was three in the morning if the clock on the wall was any guidance, but Draco didn't think Theo would mind. He was probably awake anyway, tinkering away in his laboratory.

.

.

Draco woke Theo by smothering his face with a pillow.

"What the hell?" Theo spluttered, flailing within the folds of the quilt on the low sofa of the laboratory.

"Payback for Christmas morning," Draco replied calmly. He'd expected Theo to be already awake, but this was a suitable alternative.

Once Theo had rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he glowered at Draco, simultaneously appraising him, "You okay?"

"Obviously not, which is why I'm here."

Theo reached down beside his makeshift bed and came up with a half-full decanter of clear liquor, offering the unknown drink to Draco.

Draco took a deep drink. It was gin. "I am a coward," he told Theo.

"Nah," Theo disagreed, gulping down some of the gin as well. "You're just trying to deal with too much shite."

Reaching for the decanter again, Draco found himself explaining the entire harebrained scheme involving working with Harry, being told about his Mother's involvement with Lestrange as a teenager, and brewing the potion.

"Let me get one thing straight," Theo said slowly, "you're actually _working with Potter_? As in, Defeater of the Dark Lord Potter? Noble Scarhead of the Golden Trinity Potter?"

Draco nodded, a sour look wrinkling his nose.

Theo folded his arms in front of his chest, though he looked nervous for Draco's sake, "That takes _brass_."

Draco's eyes narrowed, "It's weak."

"Nah. Better the enemy you can see than the one in the shadows. Though I'm not convinced Potter's the enemy, really. Maybe in school, when all we had were House rivalries."

"I suppose he isn't," Draco conceded.

"How did he manage to get the blood exactly?"

"I guess he confiscated several generations worth of it during a raid on Lestrange's house. My family never much cared for that particular custom."

"My Father did it. I chucked the lot of it years ago when he died," Theo revealed. "Ironic, that. I could have used it in my experiment…"

Draco rolled his eyes and titled his head back, pressing the decanter to his lips.

" _Speaking_ of that," Theo continued, now fully awake, "your blood is _weird_. I meant to tell you so before everything went to shite."

Frowning, Draco queried, "What do you mean by weird?"

With a groan of effort, Theo rose from the sofa and padded barefoot over to one of the long worktables, scooping up a notebook and bringing it back to share. "Check it out. Your blood is _way_ different from mine and from all the Muggle stuff I got. The mineral content is all crazy."

Draco frowned at the charts in front of him, "I can't make sense of any of this."

"Well _my_ blood had all the usual stuff you see: carbon, iron, magnesium, phosphorous, blah blah blah…" Theo explained. He pointed to the opposite page and illustrated, " _Yours_ on the other hand, contained all those things, _plus_ some extra microscopic particles. Silicate crystal, titanium, vanadium… okay. But platinum, forsterite, molybdenum … _tungsten_?"

"So?"

Theo shut the notebook, "So that's _weird_. None of those have been present in _any_ of my other samples, not that my pool of donators has been huge. I showed the results to my professor and he wanted to know if the sample had been contaminated by something else in the lab. All those things are particles of minerals that are only formed around fire or extreme heat."

Draco was stumped and was forced to revert to a cocky comeback, since he had nothing intelligent to add: "Guess you'll finally have to admit I'm hot. Science has spoken."

Theo smirked, "I'll admit you're a tosser."

"Dodgy git."

"Manky arsehole."

.

.

It was Crookshanks that roused Hermione early the next morning, yowling for his breakfast. A quiet heaviness from outside the window indicated it had snowed several inches overnight. The world outside was blanketed in a peaceful quilt of white.

Hermione fed Crookshanks, then made herself a mug of tea. It was Saturday and she had two hours before Harry would be there. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she made herself comfortable on the wide windowsill to watch the steady snowfall. A slight ache in her chest revived the memory of the previous night.

It had taken her a long time to fall asleep. At one point, she felt like crying but dismissed that as silly.

She replayed it all in her head, blushing as she recalled throwing herself onto Draco with abandon. He'd seemed receptive enough in the moment. Hermione _knew_ he'd enjoyed it; the stiffened length of his erection straining against his tousers had attested to that. Somehow it was worse that she knew she would have let him go the whole way, that she wished he hadn't stopped them.

It would certainly have been interesting to see what _that_ would have done to their connection…

 _Probably didn't want to sully himself_ , she concluded with distaste. Really, she was growing quite tired of purebloods and their megalomania.

For weeks, Hermione had been researching the ethereal sensation she and Draco shared and had found… nothing. She hated coming up empty-handed. Then yesterday, when Draco had been confronted with the discovery of Lestrange's guilt, she had felt physical pain. What was _that_ about? It was a little more to go on for research, but she was no closer to an answer.

As the snowflakes fell outside window, Hermione reflected how alike the snow and Draco were. Cold and sometimes cruel, but beautiful, a touch of warmth melting away the otherwise-permanent chill. She _hated_ him sometimes... but mostly, she loved him.

Glancing at the clock, Hermione disentangled herself from the blanket and decided to drop by to see her parents. With any luck, she would be just in time for breakfast. Dressing quickly, she Apparated there and appeared in the Grangers' kitchen with a 'pop'.

" _Jesus Jenny_!" her father swore, dropping the spatula he was using to make some scrambled eggs.

Hermione grinned apologetically, "Sorry, Dad."

Hand still at his heart, David Granger collected himself. "Can't you do that in the bathroom, then just stroll out as if it were normal?" he queried weakly.

Hermione grimaced, "What if one of you were _using_ the bathroom?"

"Fair point," he conceded, bending to pick up the spatula from the floor.

"Hermione, is that you?" Katherine Granger called from the sitting room. She trudged in, coffee warming her hands. She pulled her daughter into a hug. "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, Mum. I think I scared Dad half to death."

Having got over his initial shock, Mr. Granger hugged his daughter in a proper greeting. "It's alright, honey. Are you hungry? I'll do some extra eggs."

"Yes, please."

"Hermione, I'm glad you're here," her mother said suddenly, "you know we have those have tickets to the theatre tomorrow for the matinee…"

"Actually I'd completely forgotten," Hermione admitted.

David cracked two more eggs into the frying pan, having retrieved a clean spatula. "You'll have to decide who you want to go with us, as I'm sure you no longer wish to invite Ron, given the circumstances."

The Grangers had purchased four tickets to see a play on Shaftesbury Avenue at the Queen's Theatre, months ago. It was an annual family tradition. The original plan had been to take Ron with them, which would be decidedly awkward now.

"Maybe you can ask Harry," Katherine suggested. Hermione knew her parents liked Harry, perhaps because he understood Muggle things. Having been raised by Muggles himself, Harry didn't ask loud questions in public about things like the television or traffic lights, and he knew how a car was operated.

Hermione shook her head, "I can ask, but he and Ginny are usually watching Teddy on Sundays."

"What about your work friend?" Katherine prompted.

Hermione thought of Toula going to a play with her and her parents and juggled the thought, wondering what her coworker would think of being invited. They'd only been friends for a little over a year and while they were close enough to spend time together outside of work, they never really got together on their own.

"I'll think of someone. Maybe Ginny will want to go? Otherwise, we can just go the three of us, like old times."

.

.

Harry was late to Hermione's apartment, but didn't look apologetic in the slightest.

"What's got that smile plastered to your face?" Hermione asked him as he brushed soot from his jeans.

The grin grew even wider, "Are you sitting down? Because I think you need to sit down."

Hermione sat, waiting.

"I'm going to be a Dad!"

"Oh, _Harry_!" Hermione exclaimed, abandoning the seat he'd insisted she would need so she could throw her arms around him. "That's so exciting!"

"Ginny found out last night. It was a bit of an accident. She tried to blame me for having the Sperm Who Lived or something..."

Hermione grinned impishly, "The Sperm Who Lived, huh? That sounds _just_ like something Ginny would say."

"She wasn't taking it well at first. We'd _just_ talked about careers and waiting, but…" he smiled sappily, then added, "we are going to need a new house."

"Where will you go?"

"I always thought I'd like to try rebuilding my parents' old house in Godric's Hollow. Seems like a good time as any to start," he replied thoughtfully. "Anyway, you ready to head to Malfoy's? We need to get started on that potion if we want to finish it this weekend."

Hermione bit her lip. She _really_ didn't want to see Draco after their encounter the previous night; every feeling revolted against the idea. "Don't you think we should do the potion here? I mean, you've been so adamant about not going to the Manor…"

Growing up wedged under the heel of his hateful Aunt and Uncle had given Harry an uncanny ability to read people, and he'd known Hermione for years. "Everything okay?"

"I don't really feel very well…" she trailed off, averting her gaze.

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek as he regarded his friend. Instead of pressing her, he merely said, "Alright. I'll go see Malfoy on my own and bring the ingredients back here."

Smiling wanly, Hermione was truly grateful when she responded, "Thank you."

.

.

* "She Walks in Beauty" by Lord Byron (A _classic_!)


	36. Stinging Nettle

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to I was BOTWP, siewchee12345, Maramalolz, fuzzy6, the Guest reviewer, booklover19a, annalyciareads, and cmtaylor531 for your reviews. I can't tell you how happy it makes me that people are enjoying this fic. This chapter is somewhat banal and fluffy at the end, but rest assured... angst and real-live plot coming shortly. I can't help myself.

.

.

The Floo activated unexpectedly and Hermione's head shot up. Draco was storming from the fireplace, fists clenched at his sides. He stopped in front of her and accused, "You're not _sick_."

Hermione glared at him. A second _whoosh_ of the Floo signaled the arrival of Harry, now burdened with a large bag full of jars containing potion ingredients. She turned her ire toward her friend, who was apologetic, "Sorry, 'Mione. I told him you weren't feeling well, but he didn't believe me."

"Because you _aren't_ sick," Draco repeated, jabbing a finger in her direction accusingly.

They both knew it was a lie, but Hermione didn't feel she needed to affirm that.

"I don't believe I invited you into my flat, Malfoy," Hermione said tersely.

Draco's eyes narrowed, taking note that she'd reverted back to calling him by his surname. " _Don't_ avoid me. _Talk_."

It was difficult to look properly angry and intimidating while wearing sweatpants and an oversized Chudley Cannons t-shirt, but Hermione managed. Her dark eyes flashed dangerously, "I don't have any desire to talk to you. I don't even really want to see you."

Harry's eyes were watchful, taking in the brewing storm that seemed to be swirling through the room. Hanging back, he began arranging the potion ingredients collected from the Manor's extensive stores on the kitchen counter, trying not to make himself too prominent. Hermione was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry, this he knew.

Draco seemed to be holding his own against the imminent danger, for now. His fist unclenched, then clenched again. "So that's how it's going to be, is it?"

Hermione could sense a kindling sensation in the fundamental part of her being that tended to react to Draco – but instead of greeting his like it usually did, the essence seemed to be crackling with electicity, ready to lash out in open war. She could feel a flame of acrimony from Draco in response. The room spun and suddenly nothing else in the vicinity existed any longer but the battle in front of them.

 _So he wants to fight fire with fire, does he?_

They both seemed to have completely forgotten about Harry.

The Chudley Cannons shirt – one of Ron's, with an unraveled hem – slid to the side, revealing the entirety of one shoulder. With conviction, Hermione stated calmly, "You're never going to be anything other than an utter _arsehole_ , Malfoy."

"I tried to tell you that, more than once," Draco snarled. "It's not any fault of mine that you've chosen not to listen."

"So you get to just _leave_ whenever it suits you?"

"I promised you nothing!"

"Good – because I wouldn't consider a promise _you_ made to be worth a heap of sewage." Hermione snatched her wand from her nightstand and fidgeted with it as though she were contemplating the best hex to use on him. Then, so softly it was almost unintelligible, "I _can't do this_ if last night is how you're going to act every time we get close."

Harry's jaw fell open. Hermione _was_ in a relationship of some kind with Malfoy. _Malfoy_! Of all people! Harry had asked her about it so many times and she'd repeatedly denied it for so long that he'd really started to believe her.

Eyeing the couple before him, Harry thought, _What's more shocking? The fact that they're openly admitting there's something between them? Or the fact that Malfoy isn't running as fast as he can in the other direction when Hermione is glaring at him like a basilisk?_

Then Draco exploded, "I'm _sorry_!"

 _No… that's definitely the most shocking part_ , Harry thought in awe, eyes wide.

"You're _sorry_ ," Hermione repeated slowly, crossing her arms, "sorry for what, exactly?"

"I'm sorry I'm a stubborn arsehole. I'm sorry I don't have anything to promise you. I'm sorry I ever got you involved in any of my shite. I'm sorry I left." The silence was borderline cacophony and Draco could feel it ringing in his ears as he took a deep breath and sighed out the last bit, "You should know, Malfoys _don't_ apologize... and I've just done it five times, so please just… give me another chance."

Harry's eyes were round as saucers. He glanced at the clock. You weren't supposed to be able to tell the time when you were dreaming, but the clock clearly read 10:08, so he had to conclude this was actual reality.

Hermione regarded Draco with blatant distrust. "I'm a _Mudblood_ , remember?"

"You're not," he insisted, "you're _really_ not, Hermione."

Harry apparently wasn't done having his world rocked yet today.

"Prove it to me that you really think that way," she challenged, still fiddling with her wand in her fingers as though she hadn't given up on hexing him after all.

"How?"

Hermione thought long and hard. What would be a way for Draco to prove he didn't think he was better than the rest of the world because he was a pureblood? He certainly _looked_ apologetic and his words _seemed_ sincere, but it was hard to trust him when he'd left her the way he had the previous night. It brought back memories of Ron's abandonment, months ago now. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, banishing that thought to a dusty, unused portion of her heart.

"Come to the theatre with me and my parents tomorrow. It's a Muggle play in Muggle London. If you can put your ridiculously medieval prejudices behind you for a few hours, you might even enjoy yourself."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her, looking incredibly Lucius-like as he did so. _Heaven forbid_ , Hermione thought inwardly. He stared at her for a long while, then sighed, "I don't know how to act like a Muggle."

"You will be just fine," she snapped irritably, "it isn't even that different, and it's only the theatre, so it's mostly sitting and watching."

Draco reviewed the scenario in his mind. He really _was_ sorry he'd left like he had, though he wasn't sure he was ready to take their almost-relationship to _that_ level quite yet. He also instinctively knew that this was the only chance she was going to give him to redeem himself in her eyes. It had been a long battle for them just to be civil to one another. No, there was only one way to appease her, and that was to acquiesce.

He nodded, "Okay. I'll go."

Chewing on the corner of her lip for a moment, she added, "You also have to teach me Italian."

" _Tomorrow_?"

"Not tomorrow, you daft idiot," she replied testily.

Draco frowned, "I don't see how that will prove anything."

"It will prove you can keep a promise, even a basic one."

Nodding, he followed her reasoning, "I can do that."

The fire and electricity sparking between them abated and the previously warring entities simmered into a relative calm. Draco's pushed out toward Hermione's, making an effort to wrap around her reassuringly like it liked to do, but hers resisted, pulling away.

Draco knew he hadn't won that battle yet, but it was a better than open war.

Harry cleared his throat loudly, making the two of them jump. Draco's face tinged a light pink while Hermione's remained clear and she glared at her friend. They had both forgotten he was there.

"Not a word from you, Harry," Hermione ordered imperiously.

It was a true mark of how little Harry wanted to get on her bad side that he didn't even argue. He avoided looking at Draco as much as possible.

Hermione tilted her chin upward and set her jaw in determination, marching over to the leather-bound book and the pewter cauldron on her kitchen counter. She thrust potion ingredients in front of the boys, tersely informing them of the instructions. Harry dutifully began to chop the daisy root into quarter-inch cubes, while Hermione spitefully gave Draco the task of stripping the leaves off of some stinging nettle. She busied herself in another section of the kitchen, measuring out some powdered asphodel and slicing some knotgrass.

"Is she always like this?" Draco muttered to Harry, cringing as the nettle left red welts on his fingers.

Harry appraised Draco for a moment, and they locked eyes. An unspoken agreement not to mention the argument passed between them. Harry returned his gaze to the daisy root. Hermione was a warrior, tested on the battlefield, and Harry knew just how perilous crossing her could be. With a small ripple of pride toward his friend, Harry informed his former nemesis, "That was nothing."

.

.

After the initial ingredients had been added, much of the preparation of the potion was simply waiting. Harry opted to return home to Ginny, promising to stop by later, and while Draco tried to hang around, Hermione made it clear she didn't want him there. He left for the evening, promising to return the following day for the theatre.

Hermione spent much of her day immersing herself in work. Trimble had apologetically given her a particularly nasty assignment involving a fair bit of research and she threw herself into it. Anything was better than dwelling on Draco.

After dinner, Harry and Ron Floo'd over to check on the potion. Ron chatted amiably with his two best friends, a clear indication that Harry had not shared with him the fact that Hermione was involved with Draco. The three of them added the next set of ingredients once the potion became the correct shade of blue. It seemed to be brewing just as it ought.

"Hermione," Harry began, the moment Ron stepped out to use the loo, "about Malfoy…"

"I'm not interested in discussing it."

Harry frowned, "Just promise me you'll use protective enchantments on you and your family when you go out tomorrow. _He_ might not be a threat to them, but let's not forget there's still a murderer on the loose."

"I will, I promise," she told him. Then in a lower tone, "Please don't tell Ron."

"I won't," he promised in return. His eyebrows contracted slightly when he queried, "Ginny?"

Hermione shook her head, "I'd like to tell her myself when I feel there's something to tell."

Harry paused. He had an odd look on his face when he commented, "Malfoy apologized to you."

"I remember."

He merely nodded, "That's good."

.

.

When Draco stepped from the Floo into Hermione's flat the following afternoon – right on time – he tried to hide how nervous he was. The previous night had been a Hell of turmoil within himself that he struggled to keep buried under the conviction that _he was going_ , and that was that. He'd spent the majority of the morning running through training exercises with the dogs, just so he'd have something to keep his mind occupied. It had only partially worked.

Draco had never met a Muggle before. He didn't know what to expect, and he felt sure he would muck something up. How was he to dress? How should he behave? Would he stick out?

Hermione had chosen a simple, black dress that had a high neckline, but a somewhat shorter hem, just above her knees. Half of her hair was braided back, and the other half hung free.

"You look great," he told her sincerely.

She merely glowered at him, silently taking in his clothing choice. He had decided on black slacks and an open jacket. His dark shirt underneath the jacket had a high collar, making him seem vaguely Victorian. He hadn't slicked his hair back like he often did and it looked soft, like down, framing his pale eyes.

Silently, Hermione thought he looked very handsome, but what she told him was, "I'm still angry with you."

He nodded. "I know."

"My parents are going to drive us to Shaftesbury Avenue. We're going to meet them at their house."

Draco lightly bit his bottom lip and asked the burning question, "What does… 'driving' entail?"

"We're taking a car," Hermione explained.

"Are those the things Muggles race around in on streets?"

"Yes," she replied. She noticed his brow was knit in worry and couldn't help but soften slightly. Pushing up on her tiptoes, she kissed him lightly on the cheek, "You'll be fine."

"What do I call your parents?" he wanted to know.

"Dr. and Dr. Granger? Mr. and Mrs. Granger? David and Katherine? I'm not really sure. Any of those is fine."

"Your parents are doctors?"

"Actually, they're dentists." Draco's face remained blank. Hermione sighed and explained, "They attend to peoples' teeth."

"Oh." Draco still seemed confused, but there were plenty of questions to ask. "Do they know about me?"

That one seemed to be causing him the most amount of consternation. Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction that he was nervous. "I've told them about you, and yes, they know you bullied me _relentlessly_ throughout Hogwarts. But they don't know about your involvement with Voldemort. We don't really talk about the War. Come on, or we'll be late. You can Side-Along Apparate with me."

.

.

Fifteen minutes later, David Granger was driving the four of them into London in his new sedan. Katherine was chatting animatedly about a patient she'd had to deal with that week and Draco was relatively silent, wide eyes taking in the landscape flying by outside the car's window.

Hermione had introduced Draco to her parents as her friend, and he'd been doing great so far. It helped that he'd been raised to have impeccable manners, although he had been unusually quiet.

"So, Draco," David began from the driver's seat, "what do you do?"

"Do?" Draco queried, his head snapping up from the window.

"For work."

Hermione laughed inwardly, wondering how he would answer that question. She knew for a fact he mostly sat on bank accounts while they accrued interest.

"I'm an investor, mostly. I also sit on the director's board at the Ministry for the Department of Magical Secrecy," he responded.

"That sounds like an important job for someone so young," Katherine commented. "What exactly do you do there?"

Draco launched into an explanation of how he attended meetings to listen to proposals for laws, met with ambassadors from other countries, and attended social gatherings to seal inter-departmental relationships. "My Father also had an extensive network of investments. I've been combing through them for years, making decisions on what exactly I want to keep putting money into."

"And your Father helps you with this?" David wanted to know, intrigued.

Draco paused a moment, "My parents are dead."

This wasn't strictly-speaking true, but Hermione cast him a quick look of approval in his choice of words. She wasn't sure she wanted to explain the Dementor's Kiss to her parents.

"But you're so _young_ ," Katherine tutted, warming to him at this admission.

Hermione was surprised – but pleased – when Draco started to ease out of his shell. He asked the Grangers what being a dentist entailed, and had a lot of questions about cars that David was happy to answer.

The drive was a little over an hour, but it seemed to fly by. Draco was fascinated by all the dials on the dashboard of the car, especially the radio. He'd never been exposed to Muggle music before.

"Just in time," David said, pulling into a parking space. "We've got twenty minutes to walk to the theatre and find our seats."

"This is a tradition we do every year," Katherine informed Draco. "The Queen's Theatre at Shaftesbury Avenue. Have you ever been to the theatre?"

"Not a Muggle one," he admitted, "but I'm quite familiar with the concept."

"It's nice to have some traditions," Katherine said as they made their way down the street and toward the theatre, where others were gathering.

 _If you only knew the ones his family had_ , Hermione thought darkly to herself.

"We tried to take Hermione skiing once… thought it would make a lovely annual trip…"

David laughed, "But Hermione has all the coordination of a platypus."

"Dad!" Hermione exclaimed, embarrassed.

Draco smirked, looking curious. "What's skiing?"

This led into a long description about strapping strips of fiberglass to your feet and sliding quickly down a snow-covered mountain. Draco looked incredulous that anyone would do such a thing, but responded good-naturedly, "Having seen Hermione on a broom, I can attest that her coordination is somewhat less than satisfactory."

.

.

"It was very nice to meet you, Draco," Katherine smiled once they'd returned to the Grangers' house.

"Thank you for taking me," he answered, manners flawless. Once he'd overcome his initial nervousness, he'd quickly realized that manners in the wizarding world were almost exactly the same as they were in the Muggle world. The Grangers' lifestyle – while frustrating in many ways, especially in how long transportation took – was not savage as he'd always been led to believe.

Katherine added, "I hope you won't be a stranger."

"Mum," Hermione warned.

"What?" Mrs. Granger demanded, rounding on her daughter. "It was _nice_ to discover you have some friends with manners."

Draco snickered.

"Very handsome, too, Mr. Malfoy."

" _Mum!_ "

"Katherine, why don't we say goodnight?" David suggested, noting the deep flush that had appeared on his daughter's face and the smug expression on Draco's. "It was nice meeting you, Draco. We will see you soon, Hermione."

Hermione snaked her arm through Draco's and Side-Along Apparated him back to her flat. The potion was giving off a subtle earthy smell that permeated their noses.

"Sorry about that," Hermione apologized, her color still high from her mother's commentary.

"Do your parents consider that a date?" Draco questioned thoughtfully, thinking back to all the chaperoned outings he'd gone on with Astoria.

"That would be _so_ embarrassing…"

"Why? Your Mother seems rather taken with me," he smirked.

"I think you're just more… what they expected me to bring around, rather than, well, Ron," she admitted.

His smirk deepened, "So what you're saying is I'm your type?"

Hermione laughed before lying, "Definitely not."

He raised a pale eyebrow at her, already leaning in toward her as he whispered, "You are a terrible liar."

Pressing a light kiss onto her lips, he broke away after a quick moment. He didn't want to push his luck by trying for more.

Mollified, Hermione smiled at him. This was a good start. "We should check the potion. If it's the right shade of green, it's supposed to be ready in two hours."


	37. Stories and Results

Author's Note: Thanks tons to my lovely reviewers: Frogster, 4fanci, Musicangel913, I was BOTWP, siewchee12345, cmtaylor531, jperks, and fuzzy6. _Extra_ thank you to I was BOTWP for pointing out I forgot to write what Draco wore to the theatre in the last chapter. I have updated that (if anyone is curious) and as compensation, here is the requested scene where Hermione explains to Draco how she broke into Gringotts disguised as Bellatrix...

.

.

"It looks exactly as it's supposed to," Hermione breathed in relief as she bent over the cauldron full of the nearly completed potion. It was the color of split-pea soup, but thin and watery-looking. Glancing at the digital numbers on the clock of her microwave, she announced, "Harry should be here in an hour or so. We will have to add in the last bunch of ingredients and let it boil for another forty minutes. With any luck, after that, we add the Formatogoria and the potion will turn silver."

Draco commented, "This is a very finicky potion."

"It's still not as bad as brewing a Polyjuice…"

He frowned, "When have you brewed a Polyjuice?"

Hermione giggled. "Remind me to tell you about second year sometime."

"How about you tell me now?"

She shook her head stubbornly, eyes still glittering with the memory.

"Tell me about breaking into Gringotts then," he requested.

Her eyes widened, "How do you know about that?"

"It's on your bloody Chocolate Frog Card, Hermione, literally _everyone_ knows about it – just not how you did it."

Shuddering, Hermione admitted, "I can't stand those silly cards. Very well. I'll put on some tea first. Would you like some?"

Once they'd settled onto the couch, each with a steaming mug of tea, Hermione drew a deep breath and began, "It was during the War. Harry, Ron and I were hunting horcruxes. We had four more to find and destroy, that we knew of. Things were pretty dark."

Draco remembered that year too well. He'd been pulled from Hogwarts to live at the Manor full-time. More days than not, the Dark Lord had stayed there, too. It had been a sleepless year, coated in the blood of both the innocent and guilty alike.

"Harry knew Voldemort made some of his horcruxes out of items that once belonged to the founders of Hogwarts." Hermione's eyes were staring ahead as she practically recited, "The horcrux inside Slytherin's locket tried to kill Ron, but he destroyed it with the Sword of Gryffindor."

"Hang on," Draco interrupted, "with a _sword_?"

She nodded, "The Sword of Gryffindor presents itself to any worthy Gryffindor in need of aid." In her head, Hermione added, _Or placed before you secretly by Severus Snape._

Draco rolled his eyes, "Of course it does _._ "

Hermione continued, "Then we accidentally broke the taboo and got caught by the Snatchers. They recognized Harry because of his scar, even after I hexed his face to try to hide his identity."

Normally, Draco would have savored the image of Hermione hexing Harry's face, no matter the reasoning behind it, but he couldn't at that moment because he knew the next part of the story all too well. "They brought you to the Manor. The Snatchers did."

Nodding, Hermione continued, "They did. You will remember Bellatrix tortured me somewhat extensively." The rest came out in a rush, "Well, after we were rescued, we spent some time recovering at Ron's brother's house. It was there that we decided another one of the horcruxes had to be hidden in Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts. She'd been _so_ upset that we had the Sword of Gryffindor... and one of the things she repeatedly asked me while she was torturing me, was what else we had taken from her vault. We knew we had to get in there."

"Hang on. You not only broke into Gringotts... but you broke into the _Lestrange_ vault?" Draco questioned incredulously.

"Yes," she confirmed, "but we needed a disguise. Harry and Griphook hid under the invisibility cloak and we transfigured Ron's face to make him look sufficiently different. I used a hair I found on my jumper after the incident at the Manor to Polyjuice myself into Bellatrix. You may not remember, but she had also been disarmed, and I had her wand…"

Draco was thunderstruck. "You… _turned into Bellatrix_? After she'd tortured you? You used her wand?"

"It made a convincing disguise," Hermione said thoughtfully, "though Harry still had to Imperius one of the goblins at the bank… but we were in."

Draco was silent for a moment, digesting what she'd told him. Once he'd recovered, he quipped, "I always knew _Potter_ was suicidal but I never would have suspected it of you... So, then, you were in Gringotts. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes. A cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff was stored there on a high shelf in the back. We were almost suffocated and burned to death because of the Gemino and Flagrante curses employed to stop thieves, but we were able to make it out of the vault. At that point though, the bank knew we were there and there were security guards trying to hex us from every angle. We escaped the only way it seemed we could: we released one of the guard dragons and climbed onto its back. It was blind, but it broke through into the London skies… and the rest is history."

"It's _true?_ " he gaped. _"_ You escaped on a bloody _dragon_?"

She laughed again, "It does sound rather unbelievable."

He shook his head in raw incredulity. "And the horcrux?"

"Ron and I snuck down into the Chamber of Secrets during the Battle of Hogwarts…"

"The actual _Chamber of Secrets_?" Draco interrupted. "It's a _real place_?"

"Yes, Harry defeated the basilisk down there in second year," Hermione answered patiently. "Anyway, Ron and I went there to collect some of the basilisk fangs that were still down there. Ron told me I needed to destroy Hufflepuff's cup, since he had done Slytherin's locket. It was… terrifying, how it tried to fight back, but I did it."

" _You_ did it?"

"Ron told me I could. He really believed in me," she answered. "He was right."

Brooding, Draco's thumb drew small circles on the side of the ceramic mug. He recalled Weasley's threat that day in the Ministry's dreary holding cell: _Don't touch her, don't talk to her, don't even look at her._

"He cares about you," Draco sneered. He was suddenly, inexplicably jealous – for the first time in his life – of Ron Weasley.

Hermione cocked her head to the side a little as she regarded Draco, "Of course he does. We're friends."

"You were with him for a long time. As more than friends."

"We dated for over three years, if that's what you mean," she sniffed, clutching her mug tightly and gently inhaling the rising tendrils of steam. "Even though he walked out on me the way he did, we're still friends."

 _Even though he walked out on me the way he did_ …

Draco's head was spinning with the realization that when he'd wrenched himself away from Hermione two nights ago, he'd really been not much better than Weasley. He had left, too. An unknown emotion trickled into his consciousness and with a jolt, he realized it was shame. He quickly buried it.

"Harry should be here any moment."

The words snapped Draco from his realization and a creeping sense of dread settled into the pit of his stomach. For a blissful hour, he'd been able to escape the gnawing pestilence that was eating away at the fabric of his soul – but now, the potion was almost complete. They would have an answer, and he wasn't sure what he wanted it to be.

Draco was pretty convinced Lestrange had enacted the blood grudge, despite that he'd always assumed the man was incapable of fighting his own battles since he'd hid behind his bloodthirsty brothers for much of his life. The potion's positive result would prove that Lestrange wasn't merely as ruthless as the rest of his family, but also far more cunning – albeit cowardly – than either of his brothers had been.

On the other hand, a piece of advice Lucius had given Draco once floated to the forefront of his mind: _never underestimate a coward backed into a corner._

Draco thought that was probably sound advice.

All too soon, Harry arrived. He didn't seem surprised at Draco's presence, but he was wary of it nonetheless.

"Ginny's minding Teddy by herself tonight," Harry explained as Hermione made him a cup of tea. "She says it will be good practice for when the baby comes."

Draco, who had just taken a sip of his own tea, spluttered. _Potter is having a child?_ The other two both stoically ignored him.

"Teddy is so sweet… but, Harry, any child of yours and Ginny's is going to be such a troublemaker. I hope you're ready for that." She eyed his hair, which was spectacularly messy just then, "Not to mention, hope he or she gets Ginny's hair instead of yours."

Draco snickered from his seat on the couch. Harry's gaze turned slowly toward him, daring him to say something. "Something funny, Malfoy?"

Smirking, Draco answered, "It's not my fault it looks like a rabid bat tried to nest in your hair, Potter."

Shaking his head, Harry turned back to Hermione, looking forlorn that she'd chosen Draco as a houseguest. She tilted her head in silent apology while futilely attempting to smother her laughter into the back of her hand. Her body shook, causing her curls to spill around her shoulders.

At half past eight, the potion was nearly ready. Hermione carefully dropped the three Formatogoria blossoms into the cauldron and held her breath. The brew rippled slightly around the additions until they sank under the surface. The viscous liquid seemed to shimmer for a moment before becoming a soft silvery color.

"It's perfect," Hermione breathed excitedly. She referenced the large, leather-bound book with the recipe, just in case.

Harry produced the bag full of the vials of Lestrange blood and set them all out on the table.

"You should know, there's a chance Perseus never got around to adding his own blood to this mix," Draco warned. "It's usually the patriarch that does this, and while he is that _now_ , he wasn't always. He had two older brothers."

Hermione's nose wrinkled, "What a foul tradition."

Draco nodded, "My family always thought so, too."

Not feel particularly inclined toward purebloods at that moment, Hermione commented, "So there _is_ something creepy and supremacist your family didn't do…"

Harry suppressed a laugh while Draco's eyebrows contracted. "Believe it or not, yes," he retorted irritably. Then, because he was both determined to ignore the affront and impatient to get an answer, he said, "We should test the freshest-looking samples first."

Hermione picked up an ancient glass vial and titled it to the side. The blood within remained in place, "This one is completely dried up."

"Set it aside," Draco suggested. He picked one up, checked the bottom, then added it to her discard collection, "That one's labeled with a different name."

It was lucky they were able to be rid of some of the vials right away, because they were still left with twenty-two to test. They took a few droplets of blood from each of the vials and arranged them in a rack of ampoules.

"Add it _slowly_ ," Hermione hissed when Harry accidentally dumped too much blood into one. "This isn't Potions class, Harry."

"Sorry," he muttered, pouring some back into the original vial and setting it aside.

Draco bit back a grating insult that came like second nature; it wouldn't do to dwell on school rivalries just then. Hermione was right – this _wasn't_ Potions class. Draco would not be rewarded for goading Potter the way he had been when Snape had been their professor.

They tested the blood, five at a time. The first set all turned orange when the potion was added, which according to the book meant a negative result.

The second set was much the same, but Hermione grew agitated when one sample became what she deemed more yellow than orange. Harry vaguely humored her while she dithered about what it meant, but Draco shut her up when he snapped that it was likely due to contamination of the blood rather than a positive result.

In the third batch, their fifth sample turned yellow, then brown, then black.

"Oh my," Hermione gasped, her eyes wide. She buried her nose in the book to determine this really had been the result they were looking for.

 _It was him, then_ , Draco concluded, his mouth set into a firm line. He had felt that it was so, but the physical proof sent his blood boiling. _Lestrange killed them both._


	38. Foolishness

Author's Note: This chapter kind of ran away with me. As such, it's a tad long. Thanks bundles to my lovely, lovely reviewers: siewchee12345, fuzzy6, I was BOTWP, jperks, 4fanci, and LilRedMK21. Also, please note that some of the proceedings in the hearing may not be quite how things are done in the real world. While I prefer to blame this on the fact that wizarding laws are not the same as Muggle ones, the real reason is because I made it up without referencing anything.

.

.

"Criminal Case 0200043: Perseus Lestrange versus Draco Malfoy, heard this 28th day of February, 2002," the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot pronounced grandly. "Representing Mr. Malfoy is Cassius Warrington IV, attorney at law. Representative for Mr. Lestrange is Roy Vaisey, attorney at law. This honorable attendance is here charged with the duty of hearing evidence regarding the murders of Narcissa Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass."

Near the back of the courtroom were stands, which were reserved for family, friends and spectators. Hermione sat there by Harry, nervously twisting a bit of parchment between her fingers and periodically shredding pieces of it.

This was the second time Lestrange had been called before the Wizengamot and evidence was still forthcoming. During the previous session, Harry had given information regarding the investigation of Astoria's body. The Greengrasses had been present then; Harry noticed them in attendance again this time, in the very back stands. He carefully avoided making eye contact, especially to Helena.

"It's okay," Harry whispered, placing his hand on Hermione's to stop her fidgeting. "They aren't going to decide anything today."

Hermione managed a wan smile in return, but said nothing. Her eyes were rooted to the back of a head of platinum blond hair.

Draco was wearing a very formal set of black robes and had recently got a much shorter haircut than she was used to seeing on him. He sat rigidly in his seat by the lawyer for the Malfoy estate. Warrington was a known lawyer, famous for defending pureblood and their customs. Draco had once played on the Slytherin Quidditch team with Warrington's son.

The hearing lasted for two hours. Harry's partner at the Auror office, Martin Laurence, stood to give additional evidence about the finding of Astoria's and Narcissa's bodies. Another Auror, a woman who had been a part of the investigation when Narcissa's body had been discovered, had spoken at the first hearing. Laurence had been present for both investigations, making him invaluable.

"The Wizengamot understands from the provided details of the investigation that Miss Greengrass's body showed signs of violation… that is, rape. Is that so, Mr. Laurence?"

There was some uncomfortable muttering amongst the Wizengamot and within the small collection of spectators. A tear rolled down Orson Greengrass's cheek.

"That is true," Laurence confirmed.

More muttering.

"What is your client's plea on this accusation, Mr. Vaisey?

"My client pleads not guilty to the sexual assault of Miss Greengrass."

" _Not_ guilty?"

"That's what he said," Perseus spat, speaking for the first time.

"Mr. Lestrange, it is not your turn to speak…" the Chief Warlock began.

"You want a confession?" Lestrange snarled. He stood from his seat defiantly and the Azkaban guards rushed over to quell him. The gray hairs near his temples seemed to have spread from his month-long stint in Azkaban and his eyes were becoming sunken. "Here's a bloody confession: I, Perseus Lestrange, murdered Narcissa Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass... but I did _not_ rape anyone."

Roy Vaisey buried his face in his hands as an uproar surfaced within the courtroom. "What have you done?" the attorney mouthed to his client, who remained stony-faced as he resumed his seat.

"Silence!" the Chief Warlock demanded, slamming his fist onto the podium.

The silence settled slowly, like a cloud of dust.

"Mr. Vaisey, your client has confessed to two counts of murder, though he insists he is innocent of sexual assault. We cannot arrange a sentence until we come to the bottom of this _entire_ case. A date and time for a third hearing will be owled to you this week. For today, this court is adjourned."

Hermione breathed out deeply and her lungs screamed in relief as she sucked in fresh oxygen. Harry squeezed her hand reassuringly, "A confession is good, Hermione."

"I know," she nodded. "I don't know why I'm so nervous…"

Her breath caught in her throat again as she realized Lestrange was staring at her, his eyes as thin as slits. She tilted her chin upward and stared back, determined not to let him have the upper hand.

He spat pointedly on the ground, still making eye contact, before being led away by two Azkaban guards.

.

.

"Sounds like a real circus," Theo merely commented, once Draco had finished sharing the details of that morning's hearing.

"I never should have let Potter get involved in my business. This was a mess to begin with… it never needed to be a _legal_ mess, too."

Theo gingerly set a rack of blood samples onto the table of the laboratory, carefully measuring out exactly three drops from each to smear onto meticulously labeled slides. Once he'd finished the task, he turned back to his friend and eyed him critically. "I hate to say it all comes back to Houses, but Potter is a total Gryffindor: jumping in to make a move before weighing the options and then playing the holier-than-thou card when it comes to doling out revenge."

Draco remained silent where he sat on the low sofa in Theo's laboratory, his head buried in his hands.

"You okay?"

"Just dandy," Draco answered with heavy sarcasm. "Sign me up for Potter's fan club, while you're at it."

"Will do," Theo retorted. Then, crossing his arms, he prompted, "How are you going to get revenge?"

"I don't know!" Draco growled in frustration. "Lestrange is locked up in Azkaban now. It was never going to be easy, but now it's near impossible."

"The law really has no place in a blood grudge and _this is why_. This is about revenge, plain and simple. He started something that you need to finish."

"I'm aware," Draco snapped.

Theo looked thoughtful a moment before suggesting, "You could always kill Deimos."

Draco looked up, prepared to sneer at this notion, but the words turned to ash when he realized Theo was serious. His mouth went dry, "Deimos is… what, fifteen or sixteen?"

Theo snorted, "If you think a man like Lestrange raised his son to be an innocent at sixteen, you're an arse. Don't you remember yourself at sixteen?"

Draco shuddered. He remembered himself at sixteen with horrifying clarity. "Killing Perseus's only son and heir wouldn't make me any better than he is."

Theo cocked an eyebrow. "Since when did you care about any of that?"

Draco tried again to sneer at Theo, but the truth was, he knew exactly what had happened. He cared about it because _Hermione_ cared about it.

"Your witch?" Theo guessed perceptively. He sighed, "Still not going to tell me who she is?"

Draco shook his head.

"Tell me _about_ her then."

"Why?"

"There has to be _some_ reason you'd choose to take a steaming dump on the Malfoy coat of arms and be with someone who wasn't pure. I'm dead curious."

Draco frowned as he tried to think of a way to describe Hermione, but he could only come up with disjointed thoughts and feelings that didn't seem to make much sense when he tried to string them together. "It's hard to explain. She's just…" he tried. After another moment of searching for the correct words, he gave up and shook his head.

"You've got it _bad_."

Scowling, he retorted, "I don't."

"I mean it, I am genuinely worried about you. If this were just all about sex, you wouldn't have missed a beat in describing some exotically beautiful woman from… I don't know, India or somewhere… some haute Italian model… something."

"Maybe we aren't having sex," Draco suggested mildly, pulling his composure together.

"Which would be even more worrying, considering the _only_ _reason_ you'd have taken a non-pureblood lover is _for the sex_ during your two-year hiatus from courting. If you're not keeping her around for sex, you're in it for other reasons… and there are _no_ good reasons for a sexless relationship with a Mudblood, or even a half-blood."

Draco grit his teeth. "Don't overstep, Theo."

"I'm only telling you this because I think you need to hear it. Remember all that discrimination against morganatic marriages that purebloods are notorious for? There's a reason for it."

"I'm not fixing to get married!" Draco shouted angrily.

Theo eyed his friend critically before turning back to his blood smears, "I hope that's true."

.

.

The Three Broomsticks had been a popular meeting place for witches and wizards for as long as the oldest inhabitants of Hogsmeade could remember. Warm, often crowded, and a bit smoky, the atmosphere was cozy and welcoming to all.

Harry and Hermione took refuge there following that afternoon's hearing for a much-needed pick-me-up. The proceedings had been depressing and Lestrange's odd confession grim. Hermione tried to shake off the look he'd given her as he spat on the ground.

"How's Malfoy been outside of the times I've seen him?" Harry wanted to know. "He's always shuttered in court."

Hermione frowned, "He's not himself. He's dwelling, I can tell."

"Dwelling on what, exactly?"

"I'm not sure, but it frightens me a little."

"Hmm," was all Harry commented. "Ron's on his way and Ginny said she would bring Siobhan to meet us here."

"Toula should be on her way, too."

"You know, it's been almost a month since I arrested Lestrange," Harry said thoughtfully. "I sometimes wonder if he'd still be alive if I hadn't."

Hermione shuddered; she didn't have to ask what Harry had meant. The unadulterated rage Draco had exhibited following the positive result of the potion and Harry's revealed intention to take Lestrange into custody… had been frightening. His words were burned into her mind: _You know nothing of the customs you're meddling with. He's my responsibility to deal with, not the law._

She had very little doubt Draco meant to murder him.

"We don't talk about it. I go to Terrazza Mosaico a couple times a week, but we don't talk about the murders at all. The closest we came was, I think, after he'd been drinking. He wanted to talk about sanctity and what that meant and if it really mattered…"

"Why do you…?" Harry began, taking note of the waiver in Hermione's voice. "Nevermind."

She chuckled, "You were going to ask why I bother seeing him."

"I don't understand it," Harry admitted.

"It's not a physical relationship, you should know that," she told him briskly. "He discusses philosophy with me, or else we read together. He's teaching me Italian."

"How's that coming along?" Harry asked blandly.

"I think I'm getting on okay. He's very patient with me."

The truth was, while Hermione was pleased Draco had kept his promise – something he seemed bent on doing in order to prove that he could – their relationship had soured somewhat, following Lestrange's arrest. She was afraid to initiate anything physical with him after their last disappointing foray, and he seemed almost uninterested in her. If it weren't for the fact that she sometimes caught him gazing at her while she read to him, or that he allowed his hand to rest on hers longer than necessary when he was teaching her Italian, she would have wondered if she'd imagined it all.

In truth, she knew what had changed, and it was the need for revenge. _I don't suppose I'll ever understand purebloods and their customs,_ she concluded. _Or want to._

"Hey, you two," Ginny greeted jovially, plopping herself ungracefully into a seat at their table. "Look what the kneazle dragged in."

Siobhan and Toula grinned and sat themselves near Ginny. Toula explained, "These two arrived just as I did."

"I _was_ going to ask how the hearing went today, but judging from your faces, I would say it wasn't all that satisfactory," Ginny continued.

Harry shrugged, "It wasn't all bad. Lestrange pleaded guilty to murdering Narcissa and Astoria, but he claims he never committed sexual assault against the latter."

"The Greek Ministry of Magic still employs the same methods of punishment they did centuries ago, including execution," Toula put in, twisting one of her wide curls around her finger. "There were plenty of people who try to oppose those tactics, but we had a lot less crime than Britain. Most wizards wouldn't _dream_ of sexual assault since they knew the retribution _could_ include castration."

Harry winced. "I don't think I would wish that on anyone, even Lestrange."

Madam Rosmerta came over to their table just then to take their drink orders. Feeling it had been a stressful day and she needed something strong, Hermione ordered red currant rum. Toula, Siobhan, and Harry decided on the house mulled mead.

"Just a gillywater for me," Ginny ordered glumly.

"Remember when we were all sitting here last summer and Hermione had just got her centaur law proposal approved?" Siobhan reminisced. "It was _perfect_ Quidditch weather, the Harpies were at the top of the league and that was my main concern."

Ginny grinned, "Things were a lot more simple then."

Siobhan nodded seriously, "That's what I'm saying. You're _pregnant_ , Harry's trying to deal with a double-murder case, Hermione's working on house elf stuff now, and I'm considering eloping with an international Quidditch captain."

"You're considering _eloping_?"

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch, I'm being facetious. I only meant I haven't been able to see Viktor much because of the distance and conflicting practice schedules. I miss him."

"Well, my life is almost exactly the same as it was then," Toula announced, drinking daintily from the mead delivered to her by Madam Rosmerta, "which is how I prefer it. If you'd seen what it was like, living with my mother back in Greece, you'd be happy to be boring, too. She was always trying to marry off any of her six daughters to anyone with the right qualifications…"

"Sounds like pureblood courting," Hermione observed dryly.

"Don't think I don't know you're thinking about Draco," Toula countered, grinning. "I seem to recall you calling him an 'arrogant, pureblooded princeling' once."

"He still is," Hermione muttered into her rum, coloring all the same.

Ron showed up just as the food arrived at their table. At his side was a willowy, silver-blonde someone with a blinding smile. Hermione stiffened.

"Impeccable timing, as always, Ron," Siobhan joked. Ron's ravenous appetite was a constant source of amusement. The redhead grinned and helped himself to some of the fare, settling himself and Gabrielle in-between Harry and Toula.

"Has everyone met Gabrielle? Wait, probably not," Ron began. Hermione confirmed he must care for her quite a bit when he introduced her to everyone seated there individually, instead of tucking-in right away. She offered the girl a watery smile; she looked young, but was frustratingly good-natured and beautiful.

"How's SPEW coming along?" Ron asked Hermione through mouthfuls of food. He seemed to sense her discomfort and looked somewhat apologetic about bringing his new girlfriend into their friend circle.

"This is not S.P.E.W. anymore, Ron," Hermione sighed. "It's an actual law… and it's like trying to manually push the Hogwarts Express up a mountain through molasses."

"You don't know how lucky you are that they're interested in listening to you, though," Toula approbated. "They don't even give me the time of day and I'm not trying to do anything as radical as the change _you're_ trying to initiate."

"Well, I did have help," Hermione pointed out.

"And you're you," Siobhan added, grinning. "Famous war heroine and all that."

Hermione looked down at her red currant rum. She knew Toula was right – she should feel lucky she was being taken seriously – but just then, there was very little else she cared about except going home and having a cup of tea, alone. The rum suddenly wasn't _really_ to her liking... Draco's behavior the past month had been worrying her... and now Ron had introduced Gabrielle into their comfortable Three Broomsticks rendezvous. Hermione wasn't jealous anymore, but the sight of the other girl brought back unpleasant memories of the night Ron had left. That was a bruise that hadn't fully healed yet.

"I think I'm going to tuck in early for the night," she announced suddenly.

Ginny frowned, "You haven't even finished eating!"

Hermione shrugged and put a few sickles down on the table – more than enough to pay for her drink and food – and reiterated firmly, "Good night. See you tomorrow, Toula. Thanks for taking me with you today, Harry."

She Disapparated with a 'pop'.

Ginny rounded on Harry, "What was that about?"

Harry stole a sidelong glance at Ron, who had the good graces to look guilty. "No idea," said Harry.

.

.

 _Remember all that discrimination against morganatic marriages that purebloods are notorious for? There's a reason for it._

Theo's words bit like a knife. Draco's mind couldn't be farther from marriage after the fiasco with Astoria, but the sentiment behind the words still bothered him a good deal. He'd gone home to try finding oblivion at the bottom of a bottle.

 _You're a fool_ , he chided himself, _even if you were as far gone as Theo seems to think you already are… Hermione Granger would never want to tie herself to someone like you._

Draco regarded himself in the mirror. He didn't think his closely-cropped hairstyle suited him very well, but it had been a necessary move. The Wizengamot wouldn't be able to help comparing him to Lucius and that was not an association Draco wanted to have to deal with again, so soon.

Yanking up his sleeve, he stared at the Dark Mark with distaste, the tang of bile pushing onto the back of his throat. He wasn't going to vomit, but he would almost have liked to. The faded grey lines of the aged tattoo were a symbol for the soulless hierarchy he had once ascribed to.

He hated the thing. He tried not to look at it whenever possible, tried to hide it under long sleeves of shirts, even in the summer. Draco had even attempted to remove the image from his skin using magical means, but it seemed nothing could erase the evil that marked him for life… he would probably have to cut off his arm for it to disappear forever.

 _Surely not the whole arm_ , he contemplated. _Maybe just a part of it._

Draco tilted his head to the side as he contemplated the disfigurement from a new angle he hadn't thought of before. The skull stared up blankly through empty eye sockets as if determined to make itself a lesson in ruthlessness. The mouth vomited the writhing snake, which imparted a violent energy.

Yanking his entire shirt off, Draco grabbed a bottle of bourbon that had been resident on his nightstand. His feet moved on their own, out of his chambers and down the labyrinth of corridors he knew better than the back of his hand.

He came to a stop in front of a portrait of Lucius that had been painted when Draco was twelve. The long, platinum hair tied back with a black cord, the proud angle of his eyebrows, the disdainful way the man seemed to look down his nose at Draco… was just as he remembered his father.

"I am cutting this away," Draco informed the portrait, slightly slurring his words and gesturing to the ugly mark on his arm.

"That would be unwise," the portrait of Lucius answered, looking merely polite as if Draco had insinuated it might rain.

"I don't care. You were wrong to get involved with the Dark Lord. You were wrong about me."

His feet continued down the hall on their own, barely registering where they were going. The corridor was spinning slightly, both from Draco's intoxication and the tears blurring his eyes. He came to a halt before the door of the armory and the hinges groaned with disuse as he pushed it open.

 _You can do this_ , he thought desperately as he took in the room, decorated with weaponry from many ages. He corrected himself, willing himself to feel the conviction, _You have to do this._


	39. Stay

Author's Note: Two chapters in less than 24 hours. I disliked leaving that cliffhanger there. Thanks so, so muchies to my lovely reviewers: I was BOTWP, Frogster, Musicangel913, the Guest reviewer, annalyciareads, 4fanci, fuzzy6, and sparklemilk...

...And now we shall all have some (somewhat reluctant) fluff!

.

.

Like the flip of a light switch, Hermione's eyes snapped open. Her flat was dark and she didn't sense any movement from within, but something had wakened her. Crookshanks was curled into a round, ginger rug by her side and the book she'd been reading was still open on the pillow.

She sat up, disturbing Crookshanks as she did so. He yawned and blinked up at her with large, yellow eyes. The digital alarm clock on the nightstand read 12:53.

 _This is silly_ , Hermione thought irritably. She wasn't tired at all now. She reached for her wand and pointed at the light, flicking it on. _Might as well read_...

Her book was open to the page she'd left off on, but she couldn't remember any of it. Flipping back a couple pages, some of the words there became familiar and she began again.

A sudden fire ignited her body then dissipated. "Aargh!" she cried, causing Crookshanks to jump.

 _What was that?_ Frowning, Hermione tried to turn back to her book, but yelped when she felt it a second time.

"Draco," she acknowledged, pulling herself out of the bed. _Again_ , she added mentally. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper, throwing her unbrushed hair into a ponytail like a firework at the back of her head.

There was a part of her that wanted to ignore him, but the burning sensation seemed to be occurring with more frequency. Pretending it wasn't happening just wasn't going to work. Her heart began to beat quicker. The last time this had happened, it had been her heart that had hurt. This time, it felt like someone was burning her skin, especially the skin of her left arm. Whatever was happening to him, it likely wasn't good.

She Floo'd to Malfoy Manor and found the now-full-grown Newfoundland pacing the floor by the grate, almost as if he'd been expecting her.

"Hey, Legend," Hermione greeted, sticking her hand out. "Can you take me to your master?"

Legend responded by licking her hand, leaving it covered in slobber. She wiped it on her jeans and took that as a 'no'. The searing sensation ran down her flesh once more and Hermione grew agitated.

 _How did I find him last time?_ she questioned, trying to remember. She wondered how quickly she could get lost in Malfoy Manor.

Closing her eyes, Hermione concentrated on the feeling she got when she locked in with Draco and was surprised how easily she could access that strange, ethereal part of her. She felt herself as something bright and luminous in a void and she reached out, tendrils curling into the darkness.

Nothing.

She took a guess and turned to the right, sending out searching filaments of her being into the ether as she walked. The going was slow, as she was trying hard not to lose her focus, but she was rewarded when her searching spirit brushed lightly against his. She latched onto it, bit by bit, enfolding Draco's with familiarity.

She was drawn down a dark corridor lined with portraits, each containing a Malfoy family member. Some of these glared at her with dour expressions, while others appeared merely disinterested. Her feet stopped in front of an open door.

Peering within, Hermione was assailed by the dolorous vision of a barely-conscious Draco slumped over into a spreading tarn of his own blood. An old-fashioned, lancet-like tool lay on the floor beside him, along with several large strips of flesh.

"Dear god..." she whispered, blanching with horror.

.

.

When Draco next awoke, he was in a strange bed with soft, cotton sheets and a quilted comforter. The room was very bright, with tall windows. It seemed vaguely familiar, but he could feel a massive headache percolating in the front of his skull and he groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught.

"Good, you're finally up."

He wrenched his eyes open the rest of the way and was assaulted by sunlight filtering in through a far window. There was something soft and furry by his elbow.

"Her… Hermione?" he quavered, feeling much as if he'd been hit in the head by the Whomping Willow. He tried to move, but the furry something by his elbow hissed with displeasure when he did. When he looked down, Draco noted the presence of Crookshanks. The ginger cat looked remarkably content with his current position, stretched out to full-length in a sunspot on the bed.

"Here's some hot chocolate," Hermione urged briskly, bringing him a large mug. It smelled delicious. "There's some hangover potion in it for your head."

Draco eyed her suspiciously, "What am I doing at your flat?" It hurt his head to speak.

"Do you remember any of what you did last night?"

 _What did I do?_ Draco wondered with trepidation. He tried to sit up, but when he put pressure on his arm, he winced. Glancing down, he took note of the stained bandages wrapped around his forearm.

"Drink this," she pressed.

He took the twice-offered mug of chocolate and drank, feeling some relief begin to flood into his head. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Drink the whole thing. Then we'll talk."

She rose and went to the kitchen, where the subsequent smells indicated she was making coffee for herself. Crookshanks adjusted his position slightly, his bottlebrush tail flopping onto Draco's knee. It was morning, and the sheets and pillows smelled like Hermione.

When Hermione returned, this time with her own steaming mug, Draco noticed for the first time that she looked like hell. Her hair was a barely-contained explosion and there were purple circles under her eyes. _Did she sleep at all last night?_

The clock ticked on the wall for a few moments while she made herself comfortable by the foot of the bed. Draco's head was almost fully cleared, thanks to whatever potion she'd put in the chocolate. He glanced down at the bandages, stained dark with something that didn't seem to be blood. It smelled vaguely herby.

Noticing the draw of his gaze, Hermione set her jaw in annoyance and informed him, "Dittany. I've been changing the bandages every hour."

Draco felt guilty. _She hasn't slept then._ "Is it gone?"

"If you're referring to half of your arm, then _yes_ , it's gone," she retorted.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Bit of an overstatement, don't you think?"

Casting him a sour look, Hermione sipped her coffee and responded, "You're going to have an enormous scar."

"Better than what _was_ there." Her eyebrows scrunched together and she cast a look at his forearm. Draco could see the realization the moment it dawned on her face. "You really _forgot_ it was there… didn't you?"

Her silence answered him.

"I couldn't. It was haunting me. The whole Manor is haunting me. I can't live there."

Hermione savored her coffee before suggesting, "Why don't you live in Italy?"

Draco shook his head and japed, "Have you seen my complexion? I can visit plenty, but it would be a mistake to live there."

Hermione couldn't help but manage a half-smile, until a tinny ringing sound wiped it from her face. She silenced the alarm with her wand and informed him, "You're due for a new bandage. Hold still."

Draco grimaced as she unwound the cloth strips from his forearm; whatever she'd smeared there smelled worse the more it was unwrapped. He held his breath as the last of the cloth was pulled away. Beneath the bandages was...

"That'll all be scar tissue," she explained, pointing to the mottled section of skin that ran the length of his forearm and stopped before Draco's wrist. It was red and raw, the veins bulging out. Catching his gaze, Hermione continued, "It's going to be pretty ugly for awhile."

"It's _clean_."

Hermione turned away to hide her hopeful smile under the pretense of gathering new bandages. When she swiveled back, she set to smearing on some foul-smelling ointment and sprinkling on essence of dittany. She was none too tender with him and he winced at her roughness but said nothing.

Once she'd finished wrapping the bandage back up, Draco told her, "I want to make a fresh start. I have a property in Ireland I've never been to, but I think I'm going to live there. It's small and it probably needs to be refurbished, but..."

Hermione chewed her lip and cast him an uncertain look.

"Have you ever been to Ireland?"

She shook her head.

"It's supposed to be beautiful there, although the house hasn't been lived in for over seventy years. I apparently pay someone to drop by weekly to dust and make sure nothing is falling apart." Draco could feel he was rambling, but he continued on anyway, "I could use some advice on how to renovate. Come with me."

"Since when have you taken _my_ advice?"

Draco tapped the bandage pointedly, "Fresh start, remember?"

Hermione didn't look convinced. "What about your revenge? The case? Your prejudices?"

"I won't say those things don't matter to me, because they do," he admitted. "But for now, let's just… forget all that."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hermione got a childish satisfaction out of talking down to him, as though he were a child. "Are you sure your _head_ isn't also affected? The boy I knew at Hogwarts would have been making a fuss about his arm and trying to get someone's hippogriff executed. Shall I call up Parkinson to hang all over you and make you feel better?"

Draco shuddered, "Let's leave Pansy in the past, where she belongs." He swung his legs to the side and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Hermione. "I don't want sympathy. Far from it."

"What _do_ you want? Revenge?"

"Someday, yes," Draco admitted. "Not today."

"I wish you wouldn't stoop to that level."

"I don't expect you to understand…" he began.

"I don't _want_ to understand. I think it's foolhardy and ridiculous."

Draco reached out for her face with his good arm and rested it softly along the curve of her chin. "Hermione, don't shut me out."

He was startled to see the conviction in her eyes when she responded, "Holding on to anger - no matter its cause - is poison that eats you from the inside. Our hatred doesn't only attack the person that harmed us… it's a curved blade and the harm we do to others with it, we also do to ourselves."

Draco nodded thoughtfully, digesting this idea. "Perhaps that's justice."

"Justice, again..."

"Hermione," he repeated earnestly, reaching out and taking her hand, "please listen to me. I'm tired of trying to make amends by throwing money at worthy causes. I'm tired of wearing a mask, night and day. I'm tired of pretending there's nothing... here."

"It wasn't _me_ that was pretending there was nothing between us," Hermione retorted. "You're the one drinking yourself into a stupor every night and slicing your arms into ribbons."

"I certainly don't make it a _habit_ of cutting off sections my own flesh... this one time, it needed to be done."

"But you _do_ have a drinking problem," she quarreled.

Draco shook his head, undeterred. "Be with me."

" _What_?"

"Be with me," he coaxed. "Lestrange is locked up and that will do, for now."

"I _can't_ be with you. I'm not a _pureblood_ ," Hermione huffed, rising from the edge of the bed and wrenching her hand from his grasp. "You'll _sully yourself_."

"I don't care that you're not a pureblood," he said quietly.

"But your name does… isn't that why we've tried so hard to keep this a secret? Because a Malfoy can't be seen with a Mudblood?"

Draco rose from the bed, standing opposite her, and his gray eyes flashed like sunlight glinting off chrome. Sensing his displeasure in the void between them, Hermione was almost frightened.

"I'm not afraid of the truth of who I am anymore," Draco retaliated. "I will not omit pieces of me in order to make you more comfortable. There are things I've done that I will _never_ forgive myself for, but I can't undo them. You have to decide if you are part of my history, or part of my future. You need to accept me for who I am. Now. Today. Or not at all."

 _Flawed, scarred… and he always will be_ , Hermione realized. _But he's trying._

Draco approached her slowly, like she was a filly who might bolt. With softer eyes, he cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb along the sensitive skin beneath her ear. "For years, I cultivated only dust in my heart. Then you came along and began a slow, silent upheaval of all that. _Believe_ me that it's the hardest thing I've ever had to say when I tell you I want you… but understand what made me into the type of person that has to struggle to say it. I'm sorry that I struggle to say it but that is who I am."

 _That's six times now I've gotten an apology from someone who doesn't apologize,_ Hermione realized vaguely. Aloud, she voiced, "I... don't know what to say to you."

Draco's thumb ran across her lips and they parted from the pressure. "I'll make it simple. If you don't want this, tell me to stop."

Leaning in slowly, his breath ghosted over mouth. When she didn't protest, he pressed his lips firmly against hers. She melted into his chest almost at once. A small noise of satisfaction escaped her, making him pull her into him closer with his one useable arm. He might have kissed her for ten seconds, ten minutes, or ten years. He would never know for certain, because he was utterly lost to her.

When they parted, Draco cast her a nervous, querying look, as if he were afraid of her answer. "Do I leave?"

Hermione's heart seemed to shrivel like a burning leaf, crackling and shrinking, just from the thought. She shook her head and sighed in defeat. "No. Stay… please."


	40. Chivalry and Stardust

Author's Note: After mapping out the rest of this, I've determined there will be 60 chapters (perhaps exactly, in order to cater to my OCD). As such, I can't believe we're two-thirds done with this fic! I've booked a trip to visit Harry Potter World with a friend of mine at the beginning of June and I'm _hoping_ to have this done by then, so buckle your seat belts.

Thank you to siewchee12345, Maramalolz, fuzzy6, Frogster, I was BOTWP, bc mist, and jperks for reviewing. As always, I love hearing from everyone!

.

.

The property of Woodhaven sat peacefully nestled into the deep forest of northern Ireland. Surrounded by trees, there were a few meandering paths that led away from the house and twisted through the wild tangle beyond. Sun generously dappled a gated garden connected to the side of the house. This had become overrun with benign neglect; no one had lived there for seventy-eight years and the once-weekly visit from the hired help did not include the upkeep of the garden.

The house itself was made of a light-colored stone and had been crafted by an architect with great skill, but without any obvious plan, as there was certainly no conformation to the usual design of a home. The main part of the building seemed almost random: short hallways led to circular towers only two-stories high, and concave sections of the building fanned upward into ornate clerestories or subtle jetties. Much of the stonework was covered in crawling ivy or early-blooming morning glories.

They'd taken a Portkey to get there.

"It's beautiful," Hermione stated in reverence.

Draco frowned, "It's a bit small."

"When you compare it to the Manor, maybe," she granted. "It's bigger than the house I grew up in and that was plenty of space for three people. Most people don't live in mansions, you know."

"I _know_ that," he informed her. "It's just smaller than I'm used to. Should we go in?"

She nodded eagerly, curiosity piqued. The house was cozy, secluded and resembled a section of castle, in miniature.

The front door was heavy and made of a dark wood with wrought iron hinges. The doorknob was in the center of the door, indicating it had been fashioned in a time long-since passed. It swung open easily enough, indicating that at least some upkeep really had taken place.

The entry vestibule, also crafted of stone, spit them out into a spacious hall with four passages leading away. It was tall and open, perhaps seeming more so because it was empty but for some furniture stored away under white sheets, pushed against the walls. An eye-catching fireplace took up much of the far wall. Either side of the hearth was covered in empty shelves that reached to the high ceiling.

Draco walked to the nearest shelf and wiped his finger along it, coming up with a fine layer of dust. He harrumphed. "Good to know I pay someone _not_ to dust."

"After over seventy years without supervision, who can blame them for getting a little lazy?" Hermione replied complacently. She ran her fingers over the rough stone of the walls. Instead of exuding cold as she expected it to, there was inherent warmth to the rock.

She turned to express this to Draco, but was pulled swiftly into his side with his good arm. He pressed a kiss to her lips, then released her, "I'm glad you're here."

She grinned at him and proclaimed, "You're ridiculous. Let's check out where this corridor goes."

A week and a half had passed since Draco had scraped a section of his forearm away, removing the Dark Mark. He was no longer wearing bandages, but the new skin there was raw, ugly, and occasionally painful. Hermione had noticed a change in his attitude. He brooded less and seemed almost cheerful (for a Malfoy). Occasionally, he observed the virgin skin with something like reverence. He'd even bestowed Hermione with a rare smile during her last Italian lesson.

The main hall split into four directions: the East Tower, North and West Wings, and the South Passage. They opted to explore everything.

"The North Wing is mainly guest chambers," Draco explained, leading the way. There were two of these, both in relatively good condition. There wasn't much furniture, but what was there had been stored away under white sheets like the furniture in the main hall.

"This is nice," Hermione commented, peering around the tidy room. A Turkish carpet, likely preserved by magic, adorned the floor.

Draco looked scandalized, "You think this is _nice_? It's tiny!"

"It's a guest room, Draco."

He shook his head in disbelief.

"It's the same size as the bedroom I have at my parents' house."

They explored the West Wing next. This led to a kitchen, a dining room and a small drawing room.

"At least this is acceptable," Draco deemed. His nose wrinkled, however, as he took in the walls of the drawing room, "But the wallpaper is dreadful. That's got to go."

Hermione shook her head. "You're such a snob."

Draco gestured violently to the offending wallpaper and demanded, "You surely aren't going to tell me you like that?"

Hermione appraised the wallpaper. It truly was ugly. She shook her head, "I've never cared for paisley."

The South Passage was a short gallery hall of paintings and Hermione noticed everything displayed there was relatively neutral. There was a canvas depicting a snoozing bard and his lute as autumn leaves fell; another contained horses in a field, stamping their feet as they grazed. There were no portraits.

The passage opened into a small solarium by the garden. Draco, for once, didn't seem to have anything negative to say about this. Hermione thought it was lovely.

The East Tower was accessed by a spiral staircase leading up to the Master Suite. This was the tallest point of the building, the spire as high as the trees. Because it was mid-March and the trees were still mostly bare, the sea could be seen in the far distance.

"I didn't know we were this close to the Atlantic," Hermione remarked.

"Neither did I."

The room was empty except for a large, ornately carved sleigh bed and a highboy dresser. Draco peered inquisitively into the adjacent bathroom and returned presently. Hermione had been gazing from the window, the vision of the sea partly obscured by some morning glories that had climbed across the glass unchecked.

"What do you think?"

She replied, "It's beautiful."

"I think I have a good idea of what I want done. Is there anything that stands out to you?"

Hermione shrugged, "You're the one going to be living here."

"But I brought you here to hear your thoughts." Grinning rakishly, he added, "Giving your opinion is something you're notoriously good at."

"Well, the tall shelves in the entrance hall would make a lovely library," she contributed. "I also think you'll need to repair the garden fence."

Draco nodded, "I'm going to hire the same wizards I used to help me refurbish Malfoy Manor…"

"Oh, _don't_ ," she breathed, "you'll be so much happier in the end if you do it yourself."

"But I've never…" he began. Catching the look on her face, he reconsidered. "I'll give it a try. It'll be… fun?"

She smiled encouragingly.

"You'll help, of course?"

She frowned, "Are you sure you want that?"

Pulling her into his chest, he queried, "Why wouldn't I?"

She frowned, saying nothing.

"Tell me what's bothering you."

Sighing and wringing her hands, Hermione considered how to word what she was feeling. "I just…" she took a deep breath and sank onto the low windowsill. "The night I found you after you…"

"Removed that foul Mark," he supplied for her.

"Yes," she nodded. "Well, I never told you _how_ I found you."

He raised his eyebrows. "I hadn't thought about it."

"I didn't know where you were. I was sleeping in my flat and… I felt you. Just like the time you were so angry about Lestrange. It woke me up."

Draco was silent as he digested this.

"I could feel your physical pain," she explained. "It felt like my body was on fire. Then, when I Floo'd to the Manor, I had no idea where you were…"

"How _did_ you find me?"

"I… felt for you." She closed her eyes, focusing on the center of her being in the ether. Accessing it easily now, she stretched it out toward him and brushed against his. She heard his intake of breath and knew he'd felt her touch.

"I'm not sure how that's possible."

Hermione shook her head, "I've been researching it ever since the first time we kissed."

"And?"

"Nothing," she confirmed.

Draco wasn't sure what to reply.

"It scares me," Hermione admitted, her voice wavering.

"I know it's a little unusual…"

"No, I don't think you're _really_ understanding this." She took a deep breath. "Let's imagine it's four years from now and this… connection… hasn't dissipated. Your hiatus from courting has been lifted and you're married to some wealthy, beautiful pureblooded woman. She's about to give birth to your heir and… your heart is racing, you're both frightened and elated all at once. I am going to _know_ it… and it's going to kill me."

Draco stood quietly, observing the defeated hunch of Hermione's shoulders and the sad bow of her mouth. He tried to inject a little positivity into the conversation when he responded, "Why does it seem like every time we start getting along, something sours? Can't we just enjoy this as it is?"

Her lip quivered and she cast her eyes to the floor before nodding once.

"I know you're afraid of being left," he told her, sitting on the sill beside her. "I'm… an arse. I really am, Hermione. I can't promise I'll never leave, but right now, I just couldn't do that even if I _had_ to." He lifted her chin so her eyes could meet his, "Have some faith in me?"

"I'm trying to."

He nodded, "That's good enough for me, for now."

She managed a watery smile, "I'd love to help you renovate."

" _Tomorrow_ , sure." He pulled them both to their feet, "For today, you're going to come back to the Manor with me and I am going to ask the elves – nicely, because I like you – to bring you tea and some of those cherry tarts you love. We can even have it in the library and you can help me decide on some of the books I should bring here."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Hermione joked, the corners of her mouth curling upward slightly.

.

.

"You'll probably want most of the section on magical history."

Draco frowned, "Are we talking about me or you?"

Grinning, Hermione responded, "It's hard to say."

"Careful, Granger," Draco said in a mock-hurt voice, "I am going to start thinking you're only seeing me for my library."

"When did I become Granger again?"

"Habit," he shrugged, pushing the door to the library open. Upon stepping inside, Draco froze.

" _Well_ ," Theo greeted, his eyes glittering with mischief as he took in the sight of Hermione by Draco's side, "this is an interesting development."

"I didn't know you were stopping by, Theo," Draco said blandly.

"Since when have you and I _ever_ announced ourselves?" Theo queried with amusement. He stood from the armchair he'd been waiting in – Hermione noted it was the same one Draco had destroyed in anger when he'd heard about Lestrange – and sauntered over to the couple. "I'd ask to be introduced, but it seems I already know your witch."

"Yes, well," Draco floundered, clearing his throat.

"It's been a few years, Nott," Hermione acknowledged icily.

"It sure has," Theo admitted. "The last time I saw _you_... I think was Defense Against the Dark Arts in sixth year."

"I believe so," she agreed, tilting her chin upward defiantly. "I seem to remember you flinging a few choice insults across the room while Snape idly looked the other way."

Theo snickered, "Good memory, Granger. You will also recall Draco starting that. My, how the times have changed."

To Draco's credit, his cheeks took on a slight pink tinge as the memory revived itself. "What did you need, Theo?"

"I came over to see if you'd give me some more of your freakish blood for my experiment, actually."

Hermione scoffed, "You're doing an experiment with blood?"

"It's a dissertation. I've been attempting to determine if there is a difference between pureblood and non-pureblood. The Muggle stuff looks _slightly_ different from magical, but all the wizard stuff I've tested has belonged to purebloods." Theo eyed Hermione critically, "I don't suppose _you'd_ be interesting in making a donation? In the name of science, of course."

"Why, so you can round things out with essence of Mudblood?" she sneered.

Theo turned to Draco in amusement, "She's feisty, I'll give you that."

"What did you mean when you said Draco had 'freakish blood'?" Hermione wanted to know.

" _Nothing_ ," Draco testified.

"He's got minerals in his blood," Theo answered, ignoring Draco.

" _Everyone_ has minerals in their blood," Hermione hissed.

"Obviously. But his is different from all the other samples I've tested. I've done extensive research and his aren't normal."

Hermione simply couldn't help herself when her curiosity got the better of her. "What kinds of minerals?"

"The titanium and molybdenum levels were off the charts. Logically speaking, he really should be dead, especially considering the levels of the latter are poisonous in high amounts," Theo informed her. "But weirder still, he's also got platinum, forsterite, and tungsten in there… among others."

Draco grimaced, "Are you two swots going to geek out together?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she chewed on her lip for a moment. "Are you implying Draco's blood contains _stardust_?"

Theo's thunderstuck expression revealed he hadn't considered that before.

"You're right, Granger. Those are all minerals that come from being around extreme heat, like the stuff you find in stars." Theo was mired in deep thought for a moment before adding, "Perhaps that explains why he's a bit of a ponce."

"Can I see your results?"

"What? _No_ ," Draco protested.

Theo's eyes narrowed, "I will show you _if_ you contribute. That's the price, Granger, take it or leave it."

"Okay," she agreed.

"But then you _leave_ ," he clarified. "I don't care about how your day was or any of that shite. The banalities of your daily life are, no doubt, enough to make anyone drowsy. Though perhaps you could explain to me exactly how you and Drakey got together."

"Not interested, Nott. Blood for results, take it or leave it," Hermione answered, throwing his own words back in his face.

Theo grinned and jerked his head toward the fireplace. "You coming, Romeo?"

Draco groaned, reluctantly trudging after the pair.


	41. A Familiar Feeling of Dread

Author's Note: Thank you loads and loads and loads (more loads than all the laundry in my apartment and _that_ is saying something!) to my lovely reviewers: Frogster, I was BOTWP, Maramalolz, Honoria Granger, LittleFoot3, Musicangel913, siewchee12345, Sam Wallflower. Sorry in advance for this chapter.

.

.

Ron had not expected good news when he was summoned to Robards' office. He tried to think back… to remember what he might have done to screw something up. He had _really_ been trying since his demotion from being partnered with Harry at the Auror office. The goblin case had been settled as amiably as possible. The other cases he'd been given, he'd done well with. No one had died, or lost a limb because of him. He hadn't been late a single time. He hadn't mucked anything up.

His new partner, Nicola Stidolph, had been an Auror longer than the duration of Ron's entire life. She was a mousy-haired, middle-aged witch and skilled with a wand, but she preferred to do work that was less confrontational than what Ron was used to. She took on jobs like the one they'd completed last week, where an unstable wizard needed to be escorted from his home, his wife and children protected from him by enchantments and legal documents. Two weeks ago, they'd tracked down a miscreant who'd placed a cursed heirloom clock in the home of a distant relative, causing her to bleed from her ears every time it struck noon.

Ron was becoming a little bored.

 _On second thought, the clock was pretty cool_ , Ron admitted to himself. He shuffled awkwardly in his boss's office. There was no chair, as Robards never spoke to anyone for very long and he preferred them to be at attention when he did it.

"Well, Weasley," Robards barked, "Stidolph claims we'll make a good Auror of you, yet."

Ron blinked. He hadn't expected praise.

"But I didn't call you in here to shower you with esteem…"

 _I knew it was too good to be true._

"…I have a task for you. I'd ask you to go with Potter, but he's suppressing a riot with Laurence at the moment, so you'll have to do it alone."

Ron's interest was piqued.

Robards coughed lightly, then began, "Sometimes _this_ sort of news is better coming from a friend…"

.

.

Hermione tutted at the legal draft she was working on. Dipping her quill into ink, she paused a moment before crossing out whole sections of the report Trimble had left for her. Really, _where_ some of these people learned to form a sentence, was beyond her. She couldn't even ask Toula for her opinion, as her coworker had been called into the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts for a consultation.

A tap on the doorframe caused her to look up. "Ron!" she smiled, "what are you doing here?"

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it. His face was white as freshly bleached linen.

Hermione's smile slid away. "Ron… what's happened?"

He tried again, but couldn't.

"What is it?"

Ron swallowed, feeling his eyes begin to burn at the corners. He shut the door to give them some privacy. _Keep it together,_ he reminded himself, _you owe her that._

"Put that away for a minute, Hermione," he advised grimly.

.

.

 _Ha!_ Draco crowed inwardly as the horrible paisley wallpaper fell away, curling itself into piles on the empty drawing room floor. He flicked his wand to vanish it, a sense of satisfaction welling within him when it disappeared forever.

He had become pretty good at household spells over the last two weeks. Hermione had showed him a few that Mrs. Weasley had taught her over the years. It was almost April and Draco had tackled much of the South Passage including the solarium, and was now working on the West Wing. Hermione had helped extensively with the kitchen, as he really had no clue what was supposed to be in there, having never cooked for himself before.

There was a second layer of wallpaper under the first, this one almost as dreadful as the last. Draco performed the unsticking spell again and vanished this, too. The walls below were faded with old paint, which resembled a blank canvas enough that Draco found it promising.

 _I could put a shelf in here,_ he decided, eyeing a concave section of wall near the door. _Hermione will probably want to cover it in books…_ He sniggered a bit to himself at this thought and resolved to find one that would fit in the space. After casting some scouring spells on the long windows, he stood back to admire his handiwork.

"You were right," Draco admitted aloud as if Hermione had been standing right next to him. "It's better when you do it yourself."

He was just beginning to contemplate what color might look best on the room, when he felt a stabbing sensation cut into his chest.

Gasping, Draco sank against the wall, clutching his heart. _Am I having a heart attack?_

A second wave of the sensation crippled him and built up from there. He grunted, crumbling to the floor on his hands and knees. He wondered how long it would take for someone to find his body if he died, here in the secluded forests of Ireland. Only Hermione, the hired housekeeper (whose existence he began to doubt of) and his lawyer knew about the house…

"Hermione," he realized, like a slap in the face. _This is her pain. She's hurt, or in trouble._

This conviction gave him strength and he stood, his chest still aching. The Floo had been set up last week and could take him back to the Manor. From there, he didn't know.

Festus, Deacon, and the two greyhounds met Draco by the grate. He patted their heads distractedly while he tried to remember exactly what Hermione had said about the times their situations had been reversed. What had she said about accessing their connection to find him? He closed his eyes and tried to remember the feel of her essence brushing against his, but felt distinctly stupid doing it.

"Focus," he growled at himself, gritting his teeth.

There was nothing. He couldn't even sense himself, let alone her.

 _Stupid_ , he chided. _She's at work._ Fear had made him unable to think clearly. Another crippling blow, this time like his lung being punctured, stole his breath for a few moments and he had to struggle to compose himself.

A familiar feeling of dread settling into his stomach, he Apparated to the Ministry. Draco was not cognitive of the fact that he was dressed in dusty, casual clothing, or that he accidentally ignored ten different people who'd greeted him, causing some muttering about Malfoys in general.

The lift seemed to take too long, to make too many stops. Finally, the cool female voice that operated the contraption announced, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement." The golden grilles slid open and Draco skittered into the receiving atrium for that floor.

"Excuse me!" a voice called after him, as if to stop him from winding through the offices to find Hermione's.

"That's Draco Malfoy," another voice shushed the first, "just let him go, it's not worth it."

Draco halted in front of Hermione's office door, which was shut. Without thinking to knock, he pushed it open.

Hermione was slumped over onto her desk, sobbing uncontrollably. She seemed to have knocked over her inkwell and a dark river flowed across a piece of official-looking parchment, dripping from the edge of the desk into a black puddle on the carpet. Beside her, Ron Weasley was pale as freshly fallen snow, his many freckles standing out vividly. He was trying to soothe her by rubbing circles onto her back a little awkwardly.

" _Malfoy_ ," Ron snarled, startled at Draco's sudden presence. "Get out."

Draco couldn't be bothered with Weasley just then.

"What happened, Hermione?" he asked softly, crossing the room to Hermione's other side. He couldn't see her face, buried and obscured as it was by her voluminous curls and the stacks of paperwork.

"How did you get in here, Malfoy?" Ron demanded, now turning redder than his hair.

"Leave it, Weasley."

"No!" Ron exploded, "You have no right to be in here! Leave Hermione alone."

"D-don't, R-Ron," Hermione pleaded, her shoulders jerking ungracefully as her body was wracked with agony. "Not n-now."

"You really want to deal with Malfoy _now_ , 'Mione?"

Hermione tried to answer, drawing herself up into her seat, but found herself unable to form a sentence. Her face was red and splotchy, her eyes bloodshot. With a fresh wave of affliction, she collapsed into Draco, who crouched quickly to catch her.

"It'll be okay," he whispered, running his hands idly through her wild curls, "whatever it is, it'll be okay."

Ron's eyes grew wide and he stood to his considerable height. He pointed a finger shakily at Draco and uttered, "It's… it's _true_. You've corrupted her."

Draco choked back a scathing remark, though it was supremely difficult for him.

"After a-all I d-did to protect th-them d-during the War…" Hermione wailed into Draco's shoulder. "R-risking their m-memories o-of me and their t-trust… they d-died in the m-most mundane w-way…"

Blanching, Draco realized she was speaking of her parents. "What happened?" he repeated quietly.

Ron was staring at Draco like he'd never really seen him before. He took in the scene before him: the pale, proud face of the blond appeared to be genuinely anguished as he cradled Hermione, rocking her gently… like she really _mattered_ to him. She clung to him desperately like he was a rock and she'd been adrift in the choppy ocean for hours.

 _Now isn't the time_ , Ron realized with a pang, _right now, maybe he's what she wants._

The thought made him ill, but after the news he'd just delivered, Ron perceived he really had no right to try to take anything else away from Hermione today. "House fire," he grunted in answer to Draco's question. "Some Muggle neighbors called their… waddayamacall'ems… firefighters… but they were too late."

"When?" Draco queried.

"Early this morning," Ron revealed, his mouth set into an austere line. "They were probably asleep when the place caught."

Draco nodded, then closed his eyes, burying his face into Hermione's hair. Her crying was slowing slightly, perhaps from emotional exhaustion.

"She needs to get home," Ron stated. "She needs to rest."

"I'll bring her," Draco promised.

Ron frowned, "Do you know where she lives?"

Draco nodded.

"How did you know something had happened?"

Draco shook his head, but didn't – or couldn't – answer.

"Nevermind, then," Ron grumbled, looking sour. "For the record, this conversation isn't over. Another time…"

Draco didn't try to argue, nor did he say another word to Ron. Sensing his unpleasant job was over, Ron took his leave. As he trudged toward the lift, he thought grimly, _I am going to have a lot to tell Harry when he gets back…_

.

.

Once they'd arrived at her flat, Hermione began to squirm uncomfortably. Her tears were silent now, the initial shock got over, raw grief replacing it.

"It's a b-bitter irony," she hiccupped. "After e-everything I did to k-keep them safe…"

Forlornly, Draco took in the sight of the miserable witch, looking lost in her own flat. He wasn't sure what to say, or how to say it. When Narcissa had been murdered, it had been Astoria that'd comforted him. That had mostly been physical comfort, with murmured words passing her lips that he couldn't even recall. Then, when Astoria herself had been killed, he'd been alone with Theo, whose answer had been to drink heavily and brood.

Neither of these methods, he reflected, had been very effective in dealing with grief. Especially fresh grief.

"I can't live here," she whispered, her bloodshot eyes widening. "Their dentistry office… it's two floors down."

"You can live with me. I have three properties you can chose from. Any of them, Hermione."

She shook her head, "That wouldn't be… right, somehow."

Draco frowned, "You're crazy if you think I'm letting you out of my sight now that this has happened. You've been marked because of me… by being associated with me."

"This was an _accident_ , Draco…"

Draco's eyes narrowed and he stated, "This was no accident."

"Who was it then, if it wasn't Lestrange? He's locked up," she protested, her lip quivering.

Draco didn't answer, but he had his suspicions. If she hadn't been so distraught, he would have shared them with her. "Let's get you to bed," he urged. "Do you have any Dreamless Sleep potion?"

She nodded wearily. "There's one in the cupboard over the oven."

"Good. I'll go get it for you. You need it."

If he'd known how to make a hot chocolate, he would have done it to mask the taste of the potion. He remembered how gingerly she'd cared for him when it had been him recovering in her bed.

"Will you lay beside me?" Hermione murmured softly, her eyes already heavy.

He didn't think she would remember it, but he did it anyway. As she drifted off, he knew, _I am never going to forgive myself for this…_


	42. Revelations

Author's Note: A big thanks to all my scintillating reviewers... i was BOTWP, jperks, Maramalolz, Sam Wallflower, fuzzy6, annalyciareads, Frogster, Christineoftheopera, IGOTEAMEDWARD, and sparklemilk. This chapter was originally part of the last but it was too long, so I split it. Enjoy!

.

.

When Harry returned to his office later that day, he felt both mentally and physically drained. He wondered – not for the first time that day – how Laurence could be so calm, collected and seemingly unaffected by their exhausting work.

 _I suppose that's why they usually partner us with a more experienced Auror… so we can learn how to be those things_.

Harry felt a fresh wave of respect for the late Nymphadora Lupin. Teddy's mother had been a remarkable woman, especially if she'd been able to put up with having Mad-Eye Moody as her mentor. Laurence was tough, but he was reasonable; Moody had been intense, all the time.

Closing his eyes, Harry took a moment to rest before beginning to fill out the necessary paperwork. There hadn't been a riot over the Death Eaters sitting in Azkaban for some time now, all the cases having finally been processed. There had been a few legal disputes, but this hadn't affected Harry much.

Now people were protesting the use of Dementors by the Ministry. What had started as a peaceful demonstration had ignited into a full-scale rebellion. Harry and Laurence had to track down Muggle spectators and perform five memory charms, then explain to the protestors that they were all being arrested and kept in a Ministry holding cell for performing magic in front of Muggles. In the middle of London, no less!

A separate form needed to be completed for each memory charm and the Muggle it had been performed on. Harry was just finishing up when a voice from the doorway disturbed him, "Thank Merlin you're back."

"Hey, Ron," Harry greeted meekly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Long day?"

"You have no idea," Harry groaned.

"I might, actually," Ron countered, shutting the door behind him and seating himself by Harry's desk. "Hermione's parents died in a house fire early this morning. Robards gave me the job of telling her."

Harry grimaced, feeling sick. "That's… awful. How is she?"

"A mess, as you can imagine. Malfoy brought her home."

Harry eyed Ron carefully at this revelation and tried to sound surprised, "Malfoy did?"

Ron had known Harry for years, so the ploy didn't work. "You _knew_ ," he accused. Taking a deep breath, he grit out, "How long?"

"What are you…?"

Ron silenced Harry with a look. "I'm not stupid, Harry. How long has Hermione been with Malfoy?"

"Truthfully? I don't know," Harry admitted. "I found out the same weekend I arrested Lestrange. I think it had been going on for a little while before then, though. Why does it matter? Shouldn't we be worrying about her losing her parents instead of who she might be seeing in secret?"

Ron glanced at Harry. "You don't think this was on purpose? Her parents dying, I mean. Someone might have targeted her because of him. In case you've forgotten, this _is_ Malfoy we're talking about. He's got a pretty spotty reputation."

Harry hadn't considered this, but chewed on the thought for a moment. "I see your point. I did try to warn her something like this might happen..."

"I don't suppose you'd care to explain why you never deigned to tell me?"

"Honestly, Ron?" Harry answered, "Because you're taking it the way you are. Also, she asked me not to."

Ron's ears became red and he sulked in the seat by Harry's desk.

"If it makes you feel any better, I haven't told Ginny, either."

Somehow, it did.

Harry stood, gathering his jacket and things to leave for the day. _The paperwork is complete enough_ , he decided rebelliously, flicking his wand to fold them and send them zooming down the hall. "Come on, we've got to go see Hermione. She needs us right now."

Ron nodded. "Let me get my things."

.

.

The clock ticked softly on the wall, the only sound aside from Hermione's slow breathing as she slept.

Draco was grateful she'd taken the Dreamless Sleep, or he was sure she would have been fitfully turning in the bed, if she'd been able to sleep at all. At her request, he'd crawled into the bed beside her as she fell asleep. This had taken a very short amount of time due to the potion, but he'd stayed put nonetheless.

He liked looking at her, but only when she wouldn't notice him doing it. Now, while she slept, was the perfect opportunity. He studied her features: the almond-shape of her eyes, the curve of her pink lips, which he knew were soft and tasted sweet. She looked peaceful now in a way she never did while awake.

After forty minutes of being nestled into her, dreading the moment she would eventually wake back up, he reluctantly disentangled himself. Crookshanks took the opportunity to fill his place, basking in the body heat Draco left behind.

Draco rummaged through Hermione's kitchenette and attempted to make himself a cup of tea, but as he'd never done it himself before, his first try resulted in failure. A second undertaking yielded better results. He settled onto her couch with his mug and prepared to wait, unwilling to leave her unprotected after her horrifying loss.

The _whoosh_ of the Floo made him turn, coming eye-to-eye with Harry. Ron followed behind presently.

"I should have expected the sodding cavalry," Draco muttered, unable to keep a slight sneer out of his voice at the sight of the two of them.

Harry shot Draco a look. "I didn't come here to argue with you. I want to see Hermione. Where is she?"

"She took a Dreamless Sleep potion," Draco explained, gesturing vaguely toward Hermione's bed.

Ron cast Draco a look of loathing before stalking over to the bedroom area Hermione had screened off with a bookshelf for some privacy. Harry followed and Draco trailed after them.

For whatever reason, though Draco knew there was nothing between them any longer, the sight of Ron bending over Hermione's sleeping form, not-so-subtly checking her breathing, instilled him with fresh jealousy. He shoved the feeling away violently, then turned to Harry, "She's not safe. She can't stay here. Even _she_ knows that."

Harry nodded, "You're right."

"I offered to let her use one of my properties, but she's probably not safe there either."

From his seat by Hermione on the bed, Ron hissed, "As if she'd stay with _you_. This is probably all your fault, to begin with..."

Draco grimaced. "Believe it or not, Weasley, I give a shite about Hermione's well-being, too."

"You never used to!"

"I know."

Ron's face grew red and his blue eyes became shrouded with anger, but he kept his voice down so he wouldn't wake her. "You always hated her… not just because she was Hermione, but because of her blood. I don't think for a _second_ you've overcome that… how could you have? You were one of _them_ … a Death Eater."

"Don't you think Hermione _might_ have addressed all that with me, already?" Draco responded calmly.

Ron faltered, "You… must have tricked her somehow."

"Yes, I just woke up one day and decided to fool the most intelligent witch of our age into spending time with me," Draco drawled sarcastically. "Her blood status sure made it easy."

"Stop this," Harry commanded angrily. "This is ridiculous. We _all_ care about Hermione; this isn't a competition."

Still seething, Draco folded his arms across his chest. "She needs to be protected."

"I think we're all in agreement on that," Harry acquiesced. "We'll also need to launch an investigation. Let's go over what we know."

"She was targeted because of _him_ ," Ron accused, jabbing a thumb toward Draco. He turned back to Hermione and rearranged her hair where it was in danger of getting into her mouth as she slept. Draco wanted to rip Ron's hands away from her and was barely able to restrain himself.

"By who, though?" Harry wondered, unaware of Draco's internal fury. "We've already put Lestrange in Azkaban."

"If it _is_ related to the blood grudge, it could be Lestrange's son," Draco suggested. "The wizard who enacts the grudge can be aided by anyone who shares his name. But even if it isn't part of the grudge, both Perseus and Deimos knew Hermione visited me at the Manor. That whole family is notoriously prejudiced against Muggle-borns…"

"As was yours," Ron muttered under his breath.

"…and Perseus had become rather outspoken against them of late," Draco finished, ignoring Ron.

Harry frowned, "Deimos Lestrange is sixteen years old and living at Hogwarts. How would he have had time to do this?"

Draco turned his gray eyes to Harry and cast him a dark look. "Don't you remember being sixteen and feeling the thirst to prove yourself? If you'd had a family you were violently loyal to, don't you think you'd have wanted to avenge them if you felt they'd been unjustly imprisoned?"

Harry regarded Draco for a long moment. Shrewdly, he acknowledged, "You're thinking about _you_ at sixteen."

Draco didn't even blink. "Yes."

"I'll talk to Ginny," Harry promised. "We have spare rooms at Grimmauld Place Hermione is welcome to stay in, for as long as she likes. In the mean time, Ron… we're going to have to take a trip to Hogwarts to talk to McGonagall. See what we can find out about Deimos Lestrange..."

"You're just going to take Malfoy's word for it?" Ron demanded. "After everything he did over the years – to you, to me, to Hermione? To Dumbledore?"

 _Fresh start, remember?_ Draco reminded himself, though he really just wanted to deck Weasley in his long nose. Turning his pale eyes toward Ron, Draco was surprised how easily the words could be summoned now that he'd had practice. "I apologize."

Ron spluttered ineffectually. He hadn't expected that.

Even Harry raised his eyebrows. "Since we're apologizing… for what it's worth, Malfoy, I'm sorry I almost killed you in the bathroom in sixth year."

Draco's lip curled, "I still have a scar from that particular incident, Potter."

Harry shrugged. He'd never had much sympathy for other peoples' physical scars after all the difficulty his had caused him. "I'll ask Ginny to come over… she can help Hermione put a bag together when she wakes up."

"I'm staying until she gets here," Draco insisted, narrowing his eyes in anticipation of an argument from two-thirds of the Golden Trinity.

To Draco's surprise, Ron laughed, "Suit yourself, it's your funeral. Ginny will hex you the moment she sees you. I only wish I could be around to see it."

Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair and put in weakly, "I'll, er…ask her not to."

Draco had by no means forgotten the series of incidents at the end of his fifth year that led to him being on the receiving end of one of Ginny Weasley's formidable Bat Bogey hexes. "I can defend myself," he retorted, somewhat unsure.

"If you so much as _think_ about hexing my pregnant wife, my retribution will be both creative and painful," Harry threatened.

Ron snickered. Draco glared at him.

"Let's go, Ron, before we lose any more time. We'll stop at Grimmauld Place first and ask Ginny to come by in a couple hours. It'll take at least that long for Hermione's potion to wear off and she needs the sleep."

"You're just going to _walk into_ Hogwarts?" Draco demanded, frowning.

"Why not?" Harry shrugged.

Draco rolled his eyes. Security on the castle had been reinforced triply since the Battle of Hogwarts, despite the downfall of Voldemort. Most people couldn't simply walk in, but apparently Harry could. Begrudgingly, Draco sniffed, "Ever think you'll stop being so painfully famous, Potter?"

.

.

Even at five months pregnant – perhaps _especially_ at five months pregnant – Ginny Potter was a force of nature all her own. When she Floo'd to Hermione's flat, she'd already prepared an earful for Draco.

When she marched into the living space, she found him there, as promised. He was sitting on the wide windowsill facing the valley, badly pretending he hadn't just been giving Crookshanks a thorough petting. Draco was rather wary of Ginny; he still hadn't forgiven her for the bat bogeys.

"So," Ginny said simply, crossing her arms, where they rested on her expanded abdomen.

Draco merely raised an eyebrow at her, hoping it came across as confidence.

"How is she?" Ginny asked, her voice cold.

"Still sleeping," Draco answered. "I just checked on her. She needs it."

"Good. There are some things I am going to say to you. Let's make it easier on both of us and have you listen the first time, shall we?"

Draco shrugged. "I have nowhere to else be and therefore no choice but to listen."

Ginny sat herself down on the little couch, facing Draco. "Do you love Hermione?"

Taken aback, Draco scowled at the very personal question. "Malfoys are not encouraged to love."

"Well, since _that's_ your attitude," Ginny continued nastily, "you should know that Hermione has been in love with you for months now."

Draco's stricken expression revealed what Ginny suspected – that Hermione hadn't told him how she felt. "I don't believe you."

"You should," she countered, "because I was there when she realized it. Hermione came to see me barely an hour after you two kissed for the first time, the day your fiancée was killed. She admitted she had growing feelings for you and I asked her if she was in love. Mind you, she hadn't realized it until I asked, I don't think. The look on her face was all the proof I needed."

He fidgeted uncomfortably. "All those months ago?"

Ginny nodded in confirmation. "September."

Draco tried to remember back to September, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. So much had happened since then… had Hermione already loved him during their dance at Abruzzese's party? Astoria had still been alive and he'd been engaged… that must have made the realization of her feelings downright uncomfortable.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you to understand what you're meddling with."

"It was never my intention simply to meddle."

"Oh, no?" she queried in mock-surprise. "Whatever happened to being a blood traitor? As I recall, that was a favorite insult of yours. You always seemed to enjoy tossing it at any member of my family that stood still long enough to hear it. If I'm not mistaken, your involvement with Hermione now puts you in the same boat."

Draco realized with a jolt that he hadn't thought of himself as a blood traitor for some time now. A deep conflict seemed to rise up from the center of his being. He first felt contemptuous and irritated that a Weasley had just called _him_ a blood traitor… then deep opprobrium that it was true… and finally, confusion about the stark fact that part of him really didn't care anymore.

He glanced in Hermione's direction, where she still slept. "Yes. I am a blood traitor now."

"Is she worth it?"

The redhead's abrupt line of questioning was disquieting. Draco snapped irritably, "Are you always this direct?"

"Is she _worth_ _it_?" Ginny repeated.

"You know, I'm really not under any obligation to answer these ridiculous questions."

She looked almost disappointed in him, but also as though she'd been expecting to be. "You should know that Hermione dated my brother Ron for three and a half years and that she _really_ loved him and he was crazy about her. For years, they were almost unbearable to be around, to be honest. Two years ago, if you'd asked Hermione what her future would consist of, she would have told you she intended to marry Ron and have exactly two children with him."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed deeply at the thought. "So?" he spat.

"So that was what she wanted her life to be… up until Ron left her," Ginny explained. "That, by the way, hurt her a lot more than she let on. I think it _still_ hurts her."

"I know it does," he confirmed. "Doesn't seem to be affecting her friendship with him at all, though."

"Hermione and Ron are _nowhere_ near as close as they used to be," she argued. "But she's trying _so_ hard. It doesn't help that Ron's bringing his part-veela girlfriend he left her for around whenever we're all hanging out. I can only imagine what _that_ must be like for Hermione. Gabrielle is beautiful and Ron's clearly head-over-heels for her – though I can't really figure out why. Her head's full of sawdust."

Suddenly angry, Draco demanded, "He brings _the girl he left her for_ around in front of her?"

"Yep," Ginny answered simply, popping the 'p'.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I want you to think looooong and hard about what Hermione wants from life… and if you're prepared to eventually give that to her." Ginny cast Draco a hard look, "Because if you're planning to use her and then just leave her the way my brother did, you'd better decide on that sooner rather than later."


	43. Evidence

Author's Note: Let it be known that I detest final exams, as they leave very little time to do anything other than study... like write this chapter. On the other hand, I'm loving all the reviews you guys left me! Big thanks to Sam Wallflower, siewchee12345, I was BOTWP, Musicangel913, Maramalolz, jperks, annalyciareads, the Guest reviewer, Natalie, 4fanci, fuzzy6, Chester99, weekaa1313, Alice Cullens, cmtaylor531, K. E. Degz, and IGOTEAMEDWARD. All your great thoughts and feedback are stunning! Per usual, if anyone notices any heinous error in any chapter, please let me know so I can fix it.

.

.

When Minerva McGonagall first began teaching at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, it was 1956 and she had been twenty-one years old. Thousands of young witches and wizards had been influenced by her tutelage in the forty-six years that subsequently passed, but one in particular had always instilled her with a sense of both consternation and deep pride…

When Harry Potter showed up at Hogwarts unannounced and requested entry into the Headmistress's Office, Minerva acknowledged both of these emotions bubbling up within her. Entry was granted to him – and to the accompanying Mr. Weasley – straight away.

"Potter, Weasley," Minerva greeted with no small amount of worry. "What brings you here? Has there been some trouble?"

"Professor McGonagall," Harry replied, pressing his hand to his heart as though wounded, "when have you ever known _us_ to get into trouble?"

Amused despite her worries, Minerva offered a rare smile to her two former students, "I assume there is some reason for your unannounced appearance? Or am I to understand you invited yourselves for late afternoon biscuits and tea?"

Ron looked bemused at the very idea of taking afternoon tea with McGonagall. Harry chuckled, "Caught me." Then becoming serious, he explained, "I'm afraid there's been a bit of legal difficulty, possibly involving one of the students. We need information."

Minerva's mouth tightened, "Which student?"

"Deimos Lestrange," Ron answered.

"Ah. I should have known," she sighed.

Harry's eyebrows raised, "Has he been in some sort of trouble?"

"Perhaps," the Headmistress answered.

Harry frowned; it wasn't like McGonagall to be vague. "I don't understand."

"Have a seat, both of you," Minerva admonished, summoning the tea cart after all, "and I will tell you the short – albeit complicated – recent history of Mr. Lestrange."

.

.

"Stidolph, a moment?"

Nicola spun in her chair to face the speaker, determining it to be her colleague, Martin Laurence. "What can I do for you, Laurence?"

He gestured by nodding his head down the hall, "If you've a minute, Potter and Weasley claim they have information that needs to be shared with both of us regarding our respective cases."

Nicola sighed, glancing down at her paperwork. There was a lot of it, and some of it already overdue. Pulling her glasses off to rub her eyes wearily, she responded, "Weasley is going to be the death of me."

Martin chuckled, "Potter's no better."

Offering him an ironic smile, Nicola put her quill away and rose to follow him down the hall toward the unknown meeting place. "I don't mean to belittle Weasley, of course. He's actually quite clever when he wants to be, though I'm not sure he's aware of it. Always very respectful – up until this case with the Granger murders."

"You didn't want to take it?"

Nicola shook her head, "You know confrontational field work has never been my favorite thing. I tried to tell him 'no', but he wouldn't have it. He _insisted_ he needed to take this case…"

Looking thoughtful, Martin remarked, "These are Aurors that were still growing up during War. The likes of you and I have seen and fought through it all as adults, but it's another thing entirely to lose the innocence of childhood to it. They form fierce relationships to those they're loyal to."

"It's admirable," Nicola admitted, "but frustrating. Some of the stories Weasley has told me about their time tracking down horcruxes…" She shook her head in disbelief. "Training Potter must be an experience."

"Quite honestly, it's an honor. He's a natural."

"Weasley, too. I've grown fond of him, despite that he drives me batty… shall we go in?"

They'd come to a stop in front of Harry's office. Martin nodded and pushed the door open, gesturing for Nicola to go inside. "Well, we're here, Potter. Let's hear what you have to say."

Harry and Ron sat within, clearly just having been interrupted from a low-spoken conversation. Running his hands through his messy hair, Harry invited the Aurors to make themselves comfortable.

Ron began the assembly. "We wanted to touch base on both our cases, since they're probably connected. We need to share all the information we have so we don't miss something."

"A fine idea," Laurence agreed. He launched into a concise description of the investigation that had surrounded Narcissa's death, followed by the one of Astoria's assault and subsequent murder.

Nicola shook her head sadly. "Lestrange still denies he violated that girl?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "In fact, Ron and I have just got back from speaking to him in Azkaban."

Laurence's eyebrows raised, "I imagine he wasn't very happy to see you."

"The opposite, actually," Ron contradicted. "The bastard was _delighted_ the Grangers had been murdered. You know we've been trying to track down his son, Deimos?"

"I understand you spoke to Headmistress McGonagall up at Hogwarts three days ago and she told you the boy had gone missing over a week prior," worried Nicola. "Still no sign of him, I presume?"

"No," Ron fumed. "He disappeared during one of the school's Hogsmeade weekends and never returned."

"Well, when we went to Azkaban, we questioned some of the guards on duty there," Harry informed the group. "Most knew nothing, but one remembered Deimos visiting his father in prison on the same day Hogwarts lost him."

"He must have left from the Hogsmeade trip to go there," Laurence mused. "Did the guard know what the Lestranges talked about during this visit?"

"Unfortunately not," Harry answered glumly. _That would have been too easy_ , he thought. "From there, Deimos seems to have disappeared."

"He's still a suspect, then?" Nicola frowned. "It's hard to imagine a sixteen year-old boy committing murder… and I _saw_ what happened at the Granger compound."

"I'm not clear on the details of that," Laurence spoke up, looking expectant.

Ron's face hardened at the memory. "The day after the murders, Stidolph and I went to the Grangers' house to investigate the possibility of magical involvement in their deaths. There were signs of a brief struggle that were poorly concealed by magic. After the altercation, the house was magically sealed and the fire started."

"It was clear that it was no accident," Nicola agreed grimly. "The coroner who examined the Grangers' bodies also indicated that their deaths were most likely the result of the Avada, though of course they were also covered in burns and there's the additional possibility of death by smoke inhalation."

Laurence frowned, "The murderer of Narcissa Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass was an expert at hiding his trail… as evidenced by the fact that Narcissa's death remained a cold case for two years before Lestrange confessed. Still, the evidence was _cunningly_ concealed. How are we sure these cases are related?"

"Because _someone_ ," Ron grit out, his teeth clenched in anger, "had used _mud_ to scrawl the word 'Vermin' across the basement floor of the Grangers' house."

"We found it during the investigation," Nicola recalled, twisting her hands in her lap. She'd never had an easy time accepting murder. Violence was one thing; cold-blooded killing, another. "It had dried and caked onto the floor, but it clearly had been mud."

Laurence mused over this information for a moment, "So the hunch is that the imprisoned Lestrange Senior met with his son in Azkaban and instructed him in the art of becoming a sociopath with an affinity for leaving one-word explanations at the crime scene?"

Harry glanced at Ron quickly. "We had another idea. What if Deimos took part in the other murders along with his father?"

Laurence's brows furrowed, "Lestrange Junior would have been at Hogwarts in the beginning of September, which was when the assault on the Greengrass girl took place. When Narcissa Malfoy was killed, the boy was barely fourteen."

Ron shook his head and chewed his lip. "McGonagall told us that Deimos was given permission to leave the school one weekend during September to be with his father to attend a funeral for a relation of theirs."

" _That_ weekend?" Laurence queried.

"The same," Harry replied. "We did some digging and there was no funeral."

There was a pondering silence in the room for a long minute. Finally, "You two have been busy," Nicola observed proudly.

"There's still a lot more to know," answered Ron, flushing with pleasure at the praise nonetheless.

"Where is the surviving Granger now?"

"She's been staying with me," Harry answered. "Ginny is looking after her now that's she's officially on maternity leave."

"Does she know any of this?"

Harry nodded slowly, "Most of it. We left out the part where the perpetrator scrawled the word 'Vermin' on the floor."

"We didn't think Hermione needed to know that bit," Ron agreed, looking uncomfortable once again.

Laurence prompted, "I assume you two have also come up with a plan to move this case forward? You seem to have gathered a fair bit of information in the past three days alone."

Harry and Ron shook their heads, without an answer for the first time in several minutes.

"But of course we have to think of places where young Deimos Lestrange would seek refuge," Nicola spoke up. "He is still a sixteen year old boy and, as the poorly concealed evidence at the Granger compound revealed, he is sloppy. Trace the family tree. I'd wager your answer is there."

"There's a Black Family tree at Grimmauld Place," Harry recalled. "I'll take a look at it. I should have looked at it before, but I never go in that room if I can help it."

The room reminded Harry too much of Sirius and the pain that was still embedded deep within him at the loss he'd sustained when Bellatrix had taken away his godfather. Harry couldn't help but wonder, _Why do_ _these pureblood wizards insist on remaining in the Dark? Is the Light so blinding?_

.

.

Theo passed Draco a glass of mulled wine without even asking if he wanted it. "You're going to need this."

Draco's eyebrows raised in suspicion and he took the offered glass, but didn't drink from it. "Why might that be?"

"Because you and I are going to have a chat."

Draco said nothing, waiting. He didn't drink the wine either. He'd been avoiding Theo with a purpose ever since his friend had discovered Hermione at Malfoy Manor and made the correct connection that she was his non-pureblood 'lover.' The only reason Draco was at Nott Estate now, was because Theo had formally invited him over, which Theo never did. Seated on a comfortable divan in Theo's drawing room and supplied with drink, Draco suspected he knew where this conversation was headed…

He was right. "So. Granger. Why?"

Shrugging, Draco answered, "She's important to me."

"Trust me, I'm aware of that," Theo responded, looking serious indeed. "What I want to know is _how_ she became important to you. What changed?"

"Do we have to have this conversation?" Draco whined.

Theo nodded resolutely, "Yes. I'm not just going to act like I understand… because I don't. Help me to."

Taken aback somewhat, Draco wondered, "Why do you care?"

"I'm not going to pretend that when I look at her, I don't see all the same things I've always seen. If you recall, _you_ didn't used to think so very differently from me, either. Now you've become so close to the witch that a wizard with a blood grudge on you decides her _Muggle parents_ are a good target to get at you… and he was right!"

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. It had been three days since Hermione had received her dreadful news and Draco hadn't seen her since he'd kept a vigil over her slumber in her flat in Chipping Norton. Ginny had resolutely moved Hermione in to live with the Potters after that – with their fierce Gryffindor loyalty, strong wards, and unconditional love…

While Draco suspected Hermione needed all those things, it bothered him that he could offer her none of them.

"When you attend classes at your Muggle university, do you interact with the Muggles?" Draco queried, following a different tack.

"Obviously," Theo answered with a sneer.

"And have you ever felt a sense of regard for any of them?"

Theo's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps."

"You must, because you once spoke to me of a professor you had there that you esteemed."

"He is… exceptional," Theo conceded.

Draco nodded, "Do you remember telling me that you no longer thought of half-bloods and Muggle-borns as so very different any longer?"

"I believe that once a bloodline is tainted, it ceases to matter _how_ tainted, yes."

"So with that logic, Snape and your Muggle professor are not so very different," Draco concluded. "Are they?"

Theo gaped at his friend. "Are you out of your _mind_?"

"Actually, I rather suspect I'm finally figuring out my right one," Draco replied mildly.

"So you expect me to believe that you just _stopped caring_ about Granger's blood status?"

"You misunderstand me. I was able to admire her _despite_ her blood status," Draco corrected, taking his first sip of the mulled wine. It tasted sweet and somewhat tangy, like it had been aged in citrus peel and imbibed with sugar. "The pull I felt to her wasn't something I planned, or even wanted to encourage – it simply occurred. _Now_ there's fuck all I can do about it."

"I might have a clue about that." Theo's eyes were full of a murky emotion that might have been guilt, along with a gleam of what could be mischief. "You may recall a couple weeks ago, that Granger donated some of her blood for my experiment."

 _How could I forget?_ Draco thought blandly. He'd stood by for over an hour while Theo and Hermione had discussed the possibilities of observing the chemistry of wizarding blood… with vastly different hopes for the outcome.

"Well, funny thing about that. It turns out _her_ blood has all the same minerals yours does."

Draco could do nothing but stare for a moment. "How is that possible?"

Theo's shoulders heaved with a tremendous effusion of breath. "Trust me… I have _no idea_. I ran test after test after test, but not only are they the _same_ minerals, but they are in the same _concentrations_ in relation to one another. I even ran it by my professor. He insists I must have gotten the samples mixed up. Accidentally doubled yours or something."

"And did you?" Draco prompted.

"I know I didn't."

"Would that make us… related?" Draco whispered. With abject horror, he recalled groping Hermione in their failed romantic tussle, and all the times they'd kissed, often without restraint.

"No, no," Theo assured his friend after downing a deep gulp of the mulled wine. "Your actual blood is quite different from hers. It's only the mineral concentrations that are inexplicably the same."

 _No idea what that means_ , Draco concluded presently, his mind preoccupied. Relaxing, he swilled some of the wine in his mouth. It wasn't bad, but it was a touch too sweet for him. Realizing he owed Theo an answer, he uttered, "Thank Merlin."

Cocking an eyebrow, his friend inferred, "So you _are_ sleeping with Granger?"

"Don't make me hex you."

Ignoring Draco's idle threats like he always did, Theo poured himself another glass of wine. "How is your witch taking the blood grudge now that it's personally affected her?"

Frozen in his seat on the divan, Draco's mind whirled with a maelstrom of thoughts. First, he remembered Hermione plaintively requesting he not take revenge so seriously. _Don't stain your soul like that_ , whispered the memory of her voice into his ear. Glancing down at the new scar tissue that riddled his left forearm where the Mark used to be, Draco felt a flooding sense of relief and the ringing purity of a cleaner conscience. But his mind clouded with darkness again with the recollection of Hermione's utter misery at the discovery of her parents' death and Draco's own knowledge that it had been the result of her involvement with him.

 _I am going to know... and it's going to kill me_. Hermione's words seemed to hold a deeper meaning for Draco now that he, too, was constantly aware of their connection. A connection, it seemed, that had the distinct possibility of being something that had left traces in both their blood.

Draco had no answer for Theo. He couldn't conceive of a future where he was able to keep both the knowledge that Hermione loved him _and_ her brittle trust in him intact, while also seeking revenge for the wrongdoings of the Lestranges. Above all things, Draco supposed he would learn to cope if Hermione hated him, so long as she would be safe from harm.

 _A Malfoy doesn't make sacrifices like that_ , a firm voice reminded him, floating to the forefront of his brain like the ebb of the tide.

Still, Draco had felt her dull ache of sadness for the past three days. It was a consistent thrum in the back of his mind and had been making him prone to headaches. If there was a chance he could make her happy and right the wrongs she'd suffered on his account, Draco thought he really _could_ sacrifice.

He wasn't sure what that meant.


	44. An Astounding Conclusion

Author's Note: This is a super-duper long chapter (my longest yet!), but there didn't seem to be anywhere good to break it off other than where it did. Many thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: Chester99, Sam Wallflower, jperks, K. E. Degz, Frogster, 4fanci, I was BOTWP, siewchee12345, fuzzy6, annalyciareads. _Especially_ thank you for being patient while Draco sorts out his feelings and real live plot happens. You may now prepare for imminent fluff. Mwah.

.

.

"In the name of all that is holy!" Ginny cried. "Edward _Remus_ Lupin, get back here this moment!"

Giggling, Teddy bounced away from his guardian… three feet high… four feet… five… Hermione merely looked on at the display of the toddler's accidental magic. Ginny was desperately trying to stop Teddy from bouncing around like an odd rubber ball, to no avail. There was a small danger that the green-haired four-year-old might bounce over the fence of the small backyard at Grimmauld Place and thus attract the notice of the neighboring Muggles, but Teddy was oblivious to this.

"I suppose I should help, shouldn't I?" Harry sighed, coming up beside Hermione and smoothing out his Auror robes.

She shook her head slowly at her friend's appearance, "Ginny will be fine. She's actually having fun, she's just pretending not to. Besides, your own children will have bouts of accidental magic at some point. This is good practice."

Harry nodded and answered, "That's partly why we took Teddy for a little while. Andromeda wanted to travel a bit and now's a better time to watch him than after the baby comes."

Hermione turned away from the sappy, loving smile that had appeared on Harry's face as he gazed at Ginny, who was now transfiguring the grass into mattresses in their tiny backyard. Teddy fell onto one with a shriek of delight and was caught. Ginny immediately began tickling him and his laughter rang shrilly as he sprouted a pair of pig's ears and his hair changed from green to orange.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked quietly, observing his friend.

The tiny smile that Hermione had managed at the sight of Ginny and Teddy playing in the backyard, vanished. She knew what Harry meant. "It's only been a week… I don't know. As well as I can be, I guess. They had a life insurance agent who knew their wishes in case they died, and she's been setting it all in motion… and thank Merlin for it, because I'm not sure I could have handled planning their funeral…"

Tears began to well in Hermione's eyes again, but she didn't seem to notice. Harry pulled her into a hug, silently reminding her how much he cared.

After a moment, the bout of melancholy was righted and Hermione pulled away, wiping her eyes. "You and Ginny have been so good to me, letting me stay here."

"None of that, 'Mione. You know you can stay as long as you like."

Ginny pushed the back door open, holding the wriggling Teddy until he was safely inside before she set him down. "Go on, Teddy," she encouraged, pushing him toward Harry and Hermione. "Just like you did outside."

Hermione absently began wondering what he might break if he began bouncing in the house, when she felt a tug on the bottom of her shirt. Looking down, Teddy held out his small hand to her.

In his chubby palm, a daisy slowly materialized. Solemnly, Teddy explained, "It's 'cause you're sad."

Offering a watery smile to the small boy, Hermione felt another barely-attached piece of her heart break away as she took the flower, then knelt down to hug the small boy. "You're a sweet soul, Teddy," she whispered.

"I'm off," Harry announced, his voice somewhat thick. "Plenty to do today and I don't want to be late." He Disapparated to the Ministry after hugging Hermione and Teddy and giving Ginny a quick kiss.

"I have a surprise for you both," Ginny sang.

Teddy's eyes grew wide, "What is it?"

"Well, _you_ are going to stay at the Burrow today," Ginny told him. Turning to Hermione, "Mum's watching little Molly, too."

Teddy whooped; he loved spending the day with the Weasleys as there was a plethora of goodies to be eaten and the possibility of a visit from George, who he adored.

"What are _we_ doing?" Hermione wondered.

"Have you heard of the _Internationale Bibliothek der Magie_?"

Of course she had. "We... we are going to Germany?"

"The largest wizarding library in Europe," Ginny confirmed. "Yep. We're going to Berlin to see some books."

"How did you manage to arrange that?"

"Funny thing about being Harry is that all sorts of people tend to want to do things for him." Ginny winked. "I'm going to drop Teddy off. You can stay here for a few minutes, since Mum is only going to mother you to death if you come. I'll be back in a mo'."

It took Teddy at least a quarter of an hour to get ready for his day trip to the Burrow. Once Ginny had gathered his coat, it appeared he'd lost a sock somewhere. Then, he had to use the bathroom. After that, he didn't want to put on his shoes and screamed when Ginny tried to do it for him...

Finally, they were in the fireplace and Ginny cast her friend a bemused smile, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

The _whoosh_ of the Floo carried the duo away and for the first moment since she'd come there, Hermione was alone in Grimmauld Place. She looked down at the small flower in her hand and set about conjuring a glass of water to keep it in. Ginny had been acting as much like a bodyguard as a friend, taking Hermione with her everywhere and barely letting her out of her sight. This had been somewhat exasperating, as sometimes Hermione really just wanted to be alone to think. When she asked Ginny if she might want to get out and do something else, her friend had merely responded, "Honestly, Hermione, you're keeping me sane. I hate maternity leave," and that had been that.

The redhead had been a constant source of chatter, as if to prevent Hermione from brooding too much. They'd left Grimmauld Place only twice in a week, both times to visit the construction at Godric's Hollow, where the new house was partly completed. ("It almost seems like the house _wanted_ Harry to restore it. It's looking like we'll be in good shape by this little one's arrival in August.") Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have felt restless, but mostly she just felt sluggish and dull.

It was hard to believe that David and Katherine Granger were dead. Sometimes, it didn't seem real… a bad dream, surely. Hermione was sometimes sure she would wake and be able to call up her Mum to joke about it. Other times, she felt their loss so strongly it was like buried shrapnel pushing itself out of her skin. These were the times she retreated to her room, placed silencing charms on the walls, and screamed until her voice was hoarse.

"Ready to go?"

Ginny was back, sans Teddy. Hermione nodded. She was only a fraction of the amount of excited she normally would have been under these circumstances, but the thoughtfulness of the gesture and the idea of such an extensive collection perked her up somewhat from her melancholy.

The Floo network had been arranged to take them directly into the library itself, as Portkeys were no longer comfortable for Ginny in her condition. International Floo travel wasn't exactly enjoyable, but it was still less jarring than feeling like your stomach was coming out your ears the way the Portkey made you feel.

International Floo travel reminded Hermione of Draco. She'd thought about him a lot in the past week, but she hadn't seen or heard from him since he'd comforted her after finding out about the news. Hermione had a shrewd suspicion Ginny was behind this, but she was too depressed to bring it up.

The library was unlike anything Hermione had expected. Completely underground, the establishment was more a series of twisting tunnels than the wide, spacious rooms of the Hogwarts or Malfoy libraries. The walkways were covered in carpet, but the walls and ceilings of the passages appeared to be made only of earth that had been magicked to stay in place, resist collapse, and not to damage the books. Ginny located an English-speaking librarian, who explained that the tunnels stretched out under much of Berlin and that there were catalogues spread throughout to help anyone find what they were looking for.

Once they were left alone, Ginny began to look curious. She approached the nearest catalogue and tapped it with her wand. "So, er… if I wanted to know how all 700 Quidditch fouls are committed…?"

The catalogue glowed with a faint light before a man's voice issued from it. "Are you asking for a book about general knowledge of Quidditch fouls? Or are you looking for the record from the final for the 1473 Quidditch World Cup in which all 700 fouls were committed, including turning a Chaser into a polecat and attempted decapitation of a Keeper by broadsword?"

Ginny turned to Hermione, her eyes wide with glee, "The second one, apparently."

Hermione managed a half-smile at her friend, who looked delighted at the very prospect of something so outlandish. The catalogue issued a small, smooth stone that Ginny took.

"The stone will guide you there," the catalogue explained, sounding bored.

"Are you coming?" Ginny queried, looking at Hermione expectantly.

Hermione shook her head; she knew exactly what she wanted to ask about, but wasn't sure she wanted Ginny there for it. Besides, her friend's constant presence was becoming stifling. "Let's meet back here in an hour."

Ginny frowned. "I told Harry I would keep an eye on you."

"I appreciate it, Gin. Really, I do. But I think I can take care of myself for one hour."

After a brief conversation requiring some persuasion, Ginny was happily on her way to view the record for the exciting 1473 Quidditch final, and Hermione furtively turned to the catalogue.

"I want to know about bonds between people that can allow them to feel when the other is experiencing a strong emotion or physical pain."

"Are you asking for a book about general knowledge of bonding spells? Or are you looking for information about ancient soul bonds set in place by heavenly bodies?"

Hermione stared at the catalogue. _Soul bonds?_ She'd never heard of such a thing. "The latter, I suppose."

The catalogue issued a small stone, identical to the one Ginny had been given. Plucking it from the top of the cabinet where it had appeared, Hermione examined it for a moment before she felt it tugging her along a path to her right.

She followed a winding series of passages, walking past several antechambers of books, and down a short, narrow stair into a basement-like room that was filled mainly with old, handwritten scrolls rather than actual books. She walked past several shelves of these and came to a stop in front of a rack of what seemed like a random arrangement of books, all bound in crumbling leather and twine.

"Here we are," Hermione muttered quietly, reaching for a small volume in particular that the catalogue's stone seemed to draw her to.

Pulling it from the shelf, Hermione noted the book was stained with age and barely legible, meaning she had to spend several minutes flipping through it to find something worthwhile. The tome detailed a series of discoveries made by wizards in the 800s and earlier.

Hermione pressed her finger to the page, under the line she was trying to decipher and read, "Humans are noble beings, made of crude matter consisting of both Earth and Heaven, hence their ability to dabble in the ancient art of alchemy. These heavenly specks are made of the dust of stars and some wizards may have higher amounts present in their blood than others."

Frowning at the page as she recalled Theo Nott's asinine experiment, Hermione read on.

"When two or more magical beings share particles from the same star, they are connected by what is known as a soul bond." Hermione leaned in closer to the page to make out the faded ink, so that her nose was almost touching the parchment. "This seems not to be any accident. In cases such as these, the star has chosen to mark these individuals, not only in their blood, but also their souls.

"This connection will allow for these bound beings to feel the emotions of the other, as well as moments of potential danger or physical harm. In the case of a true soul bond, these souls will become aware of one another. In extreme cases, these persons can share thoughts."

Hermione pulled away from the page. This was magic beyond anything she'd ever heard of. It seemed to be describing the stars as _sentient_ things that could _choose_ to bind mortals to one another. _Why would they bother?_ she wondered. _A star must have better things to do… and surely a ball of gas floating in outer space isn't a sentient being…_

Feeling curious more than anything, Hermione reached for her inner self, probing until she found her essence. _My soul_ , she corrected herself.

Locating her soul within her, she began encouraging it to find Draco's through the ether. She searched for quite some time, hunting for the bright light that was his.

 _Where are you?_ she thought, disappointed.

With a jolt, she slowly recognized the tendrils of familiarity brushing against her. Hermione physically shivered. The other soul didn't respond to her words, but she could feel it caressing her softly, reassuringly… in a way that definitively Draco.

If she closed her eyes and concentrated, Hermione could _almost_ imagine she wasn't in a dark cavern hundreds of yards below Berlin, but rather, beside him with his arms around her.

Opening her eyes again resulted in a strong blow from the hammer of disappointment. She cried in private for some time before returning to meet Ginny.

.

.

The funeral went on for much longer than Hermione had hoped. Her parents had a lot of friends and had been beloved by many of their patients. Being an only child, she was expected to stand alone at the receiving line and greet everyone as they came. This was difficult and extremely emotional. By the end, Hermione felt like a dishrag that had been wrung out far too many times.

Many of her friends attended. Some, like Siobhan and Viktor, came to offer their sympathy and left, unaccustomed to spending time around so many Muggles. Toula did this, too, as did Andromeda and Teddy. Mr. Weasley wanted to stay, but Mrs. Weasley didn't trust him not to give himself away around Muggles, so they'd embraced Hermione like a daughter and extracted a promise that she come to a Sunday night dinner when she was ready to. Harry and Ginny stayed for the entirety, while a Gabrielle-less Ron departed after a taxing two hours.

Hermione felt a rush of affection for each of her friends, regardless of how long they stayed. However, there was one face in particular that she wished to see, but the time ticked slowly by and he hadn't shown.

When all but the last of the mourners and sympathizers had departed, suddenly… there he was.

Draco was dressed more formally than he'd done when he'd gone with the Grangers to the theatre and he quickly realized that he seemed somewhat out-of-place here as he had there. With his high-collared shirt, ornate waistcoat, and buttoned jacket, he was at least gratified to find he'd chosen the correct color – black – for the occasion.

He knew he looked distinctly awkward, standing there and staring at Hermione. He'd been there for some time, watching her and letting her be crooned to or comforted by both friends and strangers.

Draco had learned several things he never knew about the Granger family from listening to the other attendees. For example, he now knew that David and Katherine had met in dentistry school, and their first date had been to a Pink Floyd concert. Draco didn't know who Pink Floyd was, but he was given the impression that he or she was a legendary Muggle musician of some kind. At the concert, another man had tried to convince Katherine to leave with him, and David had punched the man in the mouth, knocking out a couple teeth. When Katherine had commented about the difficulty of replacing those teeth in such a way to make it look as if they were the originals, David had known she was the One.

Two owls had been sent from Woodhaven to Grimmauld Place, only to return in agitation, their letters still sealed. Draco didn't think this was because Hermione was ignoring him, but rather because the wards around the Potters' home didn't allow mail to be sent to her there. Perhaps they were trying to protect her.

He hoped they weren't trying to keep _only_ him out.

Hermione was looking particularly lovely. Her skin was pale like ivory, contrasting the black dress she'd donned, and she'd tamed her hair again, letting it hang long and loose. There was a deep sadness in her dark eyes that Draco recognized intimately. Reflected there, he saw a similar emotion to the one he'd felt from within when his mother had died.

Because he hadn't had any real contact whatsoever with Hermione in a full eleven days, Draco had plenty of time to think about his relationship to her…

At first, he regretted getting involved with her at all and justified this feeling with the events that had unfolded once he had.

Then, he felt remorse that she'd been dragged into such deep trouble because of him.

After that, he was grateful she'd given him a second chance, because he really _did_ care for her.

For a whole day after that, he was deeply and passionately angry at everything.

Following that, he stopped caring.

This was quickly replaced by remorse again.

The main emotion, in the end, was curiosity. What had drawn him to her in the first place, and vice versa? Once he'd become curious, he was finally able to assess her properly.

What Draco discovered was that he liked the way her hair curled under her ears to escape being contained. He liked how she chewed on the nail of her thumb when in deep concentration. He liked how her voice inflected things in certain ways to change their meaning. He liked the feel of her in his arms, the shape of her body pressed against his. He liked her ability to be both caustic and fair. He liked the way she looked at him, like she was afraid of losing him, like he had value. There were more than a hundred other things he liked about her... things really too numerous to keep tabs on.

He reflected on his willingness to sacrifice his own happiness for her, on the unique similarities of their blood, on the prophecy, and how all these things had really rendered the fact that her parents hadn't been magical… rather insignificant, after all.

This all led to an astounding conclusion: he, Draco Malfoy, was in love with Hermione Granger.

Draco had been raised on the idea that Malfoys didn't love, couldn't _ever_ choose for love. If you were lucky, enough of that could develop in the years following marriage – or at the very least, a deep affection or esteem. Some had taken mistresses after the necessary heir had been produced. He would have to be content with an arranged marriage to a pureblood, as he'd been conditioned to think since a young age.

But…

He suspected he'd subconsciously known it for some time, but he was acutely aware of it now. There was no other option for him. She was it.

But Draco couldn't say all that to Hermione despite that it was swirling, tornado-like, around in his brain. Instead, he said, "Hi."

He was relieved when Hermione pulled him into a hug that he needed as much as she did. "I've missed you," she murmured into his chest.

His heart was beating in his chest like a caged bird, frantic for escape. Having never prepared himself to feel this way, he resented the out-of-control feeling it forced on him. "Me, too," he whispered into her hair, stroking her shoulder with his thumb as he held her.

When they pulled apart, Draco observed Ginny watching him with narrowed eyes. He no longer cared that she didn't trust him. Only Hermione mattered.

"What are you doing after this?" she queried in a tremulous voice.

He answered, "Whatever you want me to."

.

.

It had taken some persuading on Hermione's part to convince her friend that going to Woodhaven that evening with Draco was a good idea. Finally, she had to remind Ginny that she was not a prisoner, or a child to be sheltered. Ginny had spluttered a bit at that, and to Draco's eternal pride, Hermione had added, "Besides, Draco will protect me there."

He was determined to. The wards on Woodhaven were solid, impenetrable, perfect. Nothing at all like Malfoy Manor. They took a Portkey.

"You've been busy," Hermione observed as she gazed around. The entrance hall was still covered in boxes of things Draco wasn't sure where to put yet, but much of the rest of the place was transformed. He'd begun living there full-time and had even brought his dogs. By now, they'd discovered their master's return plus the added bonus of Hermione, and were busy swarming around them, acting like they'd never had any attention in the whole of their lives.

Snaking an arm around Hermione's waist, Draco pulled her in to him and kissed her like he'd never kissed her before. Satisfied that she was quite breathless in the end, he told her, "I have something for you."

Rooting around in a box by the fireplace, he found what he was looking for and handed her a small book.

Hermione took the volume with one hand while her other scratched Legend on his shaggy head. "Malgorzata Zientek," she read. "Who is that?"

"She's a Polish witch… and a poet. I thought you might be interested in reading some of her works."

"Can…" she began, her breath catching for a moment, "can we read some?"

"We can do whatever you like."

Hermione settled herself onto one of the new couches Draco had brought there and Aries the greyhound took his place of honor by her feet, as if daring the others to contest him. Hermione offered Draco a smile that revealed she wanted something – anything – to distract her from the river of sorrow that was running parallel to the river of molten courage in her heart.

He sat next to her and she opened the book to begin, but her voice caught in her throat and she closed her mouth. Shaking her head, she pushed it away and croaked, "I'm sorry. I know this was always our thing, but I sometimes used to do this with Dad over summers. I can't." One single tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek, wavering on the tip of her nose, refusing to fall.

Draco brushed the tear away, took the book from her leaden fingers, and began to read. She allowed herself to lean into him, her head on his shoulder. _He has a nice voice_ , Hermione realized. She didn't think she'd ever heard him speak for so long before.

Night fell upon the house in the woods, where Hermione, Draco, and seven dogs were nestled into one another comfortably, like home.


	45. Moving Out and Moving On

Author's Note: Okay, just as the last chapter was super long, this is a tad short. Thanks bunches to fuzzy6, Frogster, Maramalolz, jperks, I was BOTWP, Sam Wallflower, Musicangel913, siewchee12345, skellyshook, and Chester99 for the lovely, lovely reviews! I'm sorry I'm so bad at individually responding to people. I promise I love reading your thoughts and comments.

.

.

"Jeez, Hermione, what do you have in these? Books?" George joked as he levitated several heavy boxes into a corner of the flat.

Hermione summoned a watery half-smile in answer. "There are more on the other side of the bed."

"Of course there are," Ginny grumbled, reaching for her wand.

"No way, little sis," George protested. "Mum will kill me if I let you lift _anything_."

"It's called _magic_ , George!"

"Yes," George nodded, "and you're _still_ not as terrifying as Mum. So just supervise."

Ginny harrumphed, " _Supervise_. Is that what you do at Wheezes?"

George put a hand to his heart as if he'd been mortally wounded, but his grin suggested otherwise. "I am an _inventor_."

Ginny rolled her eyes, then shrunk much of Hermione's packed-away things. "I'll take this lot to Grimmauld Place, then I'll be back."

Hermione didn't have a lot of material possessions, and most of what she did have was books or furniture. The threadbare loveseat was discarded with the rubbish and the rest was shrunk down for storage or transport to her room at Ginny and Harry's. It would keep until she decided to move into a place of her own again.

Once they were alone, George turned to her and asked seriously, "How are you managing, Hermione?"

Her hand froze for a moment where she was gingerly packing away some of her breakable things into a box. Then, deciding on a joke since it was George, she japed, "I've had to brush up on my Silencing Charms, living with Harry and Ginny. Someone should remind them that those exist."

George chuckled at the unexpected humor, "That's my girl. They are still technically newlyweds though, so not altogether unexpected. Still, I wanted to know how _you_ are doing."

"Some days are better than others," Hermione murmured. Her hand palsied slightly as a framed picture of her and her parents was tucked away into the box, as well.

"It doesn't go away. But it gets easier to deal with."

Hermione turned toward George, usually so upbeat, and the haunted look in his eyes reminded her that George had lost someone too. "It was wrong, that my parents died this way. It was wrong that Fred died, too, George. I'm sorry."

"I just figure Fred's somewhere else now, laughing his arse off at me for still being stupid about it," George shrugged, though his eyes didn't quite laugh along with his mouth this time. "Angelina's been a big help. She understands what it's like to be separated from your twin."

"Is Angelina a twin? I never knew."

Nodding as he levitated more boxes of books toward the fireplace, George explained, "Her father's magical and her mother's not. She ended up with magic, but her brother didn't. After awhile, the strain of magical versus not caused a divorce. Angelina went to live with her Dad and her twin brother went to live with her Mum. They don't talk at all anymore, but she misses him."

Hermione reflected on this. Ginny's parents were still living and Harry's had been taken from him when he was just a baby. That was why, though their friendship and hospitality was wonderful and so appreciated, it was hard to feel that her friends understood her grief. Draco, on the other hand…

"It's good to have someone who understands, and cares about you," Hermione agreed, thinking of the way Draco had read to her for hours the night before, until his voice died away and the two had simply fallen into comfortable silence.

Ginny returned to take another bunch of shrunken boxes to Grimmauld Place. Hermione closed the box full of breakables and George levitated it over to the last bunch of things to be transported over.

Waiting until Ginny disappeared again, George added, "I know I'm not the most serious person in the world, Hermione, but if you ever need someone who understands, you know where to find me."

Hermione had never been close to George, and of all the Weasley children – save, perhaps, Charlie – she'd never got very close to either of the twins. All the same, she responded, "You have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you for helping me move, too. It's hard to leave... but I can't live two floors above my parents' old practice."

"You're doing the right thing. No one would expect you to."

Ginny returned again and shrunk the last of Hermione's things. With a sad finality, the apartment was empty and Hermione set the key she never used onto the mantle of the fireplace for the landlord to collect. The Floo would be shut off later that day and she would never set foot there again.

George cast her a meaningful look before returning to Diagon Alley. Ginny and Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place. The two women worked together to magically expand Hermione's bedroom, then returned the boxes and some of the furniture to their correct sizes. It wasn't much smaller than Hermione's flat had been by the time they were done.

"I had Harry fix the wards so you can get your mail again," Ginny announced. "Almost the next moment, you had an owl."

She held out a letter with a Ministry seal. Hermione frowned at it, "I suppose I _do_ have to head back to work soon."

"It's only been two weeks, Hermione," Ginny said softly. "You get a month if you want it."

Shaking her head, she replied, "I think it will help me to be distracted from all this." Then, opening the letter, she stared at it for some time in disbelief.

"I'll let you unpack then. I made it so you can use the fireplace in here for your own personal Floo uses," Ginny informed her. "It's also set up for International travel."

Hermione's eyebrows raised, "I can take it to see Draco?"

Ginny shrugged, "If you like. I'll leave you to unpack if you want. Or go see him, whatever you're going to do." Then with a dry sniff, she added, "You're _not_ a prisoner in our house, you know. We just care about you."

.

.

"Ginny was suspicious when I came home so late."

Draco frowned as he launched a large stick as far as he could into the woods. "She isn't your minder."

"She just worries," Hermione shrugged as she watched the English Setter and the Newfoundland bound after the stick. "I think she's practicing for when she becomes a mother."

Rolling his eyes, Draco waited until Caliber returned with the stick and threw it again without watching where it might go. It hit a tree and snapped in half. Undeterred, each of the dogs returned with a half before Draco finally voiced, "I think she's trying to keep us apart."

"Before, maybe," Hermione conceded, coming up behind him to drape her arms across his shoulders. "But now she's set up the Floo in my bedroom to take me here."

He turned in her arms, facing her now with eyebrows raised, "The Weaslette did that?"

"What a silly nickname," she scoffed.

"Old habits die hard," he drawled.

"Really? Are you going to go all Slytherin on me and…"

She was cut off by Draco kissing her deeply, silencing her by sliding his tongue between her lips and claiming her mouth. Responding to him readily, Hermione pressed herself against him and wound her fingers through his platinum hair.

A low whine from Caliber snapped them back to reality, making Draco huff with amusement. He picked up another stick and cast it away into the woods, both dogs zipping after it.

"I got a letter today," Hermione told him.

"So did I. Yours first, though."

Hermione took a deep breath and said very quickly, "The Ministry is interested in my house elf law. But there are a few changes they want made, the main thing being that they want every elf born after the date the law passes to be born free instead of simply freeing all of them outright."

Draco was genuinely surprised; he hadn't been very optimistic that her law would be contemplated considering most of the Wizengamot owned at least one house elf. "That's a _huge_ legal victory, Hermione. Why do you look so depressed about it?"

Chewing her lip, she protested, "It's an imperfect freedom. What about all the elves that are enslaved now? The law they want passed would require any elves currently living have to _ask_ for their freedom, at which time the Ministry will compel their masters to grant it. That's to avoid any more Dobbies…"

Hermione covered her mouth as she remembered that Dobby's misery had been a result of being enslaved under Lucius Malfoy.

"Most elves won't do that," Draco told her, not having noticed her slip-up, or else chosing to ignore it.

"I know. I can't decide if I'm pleased something's getting through at all, or upset that it was twisted in such a way." Hermione was lost in thought a moment, but then shook her head. "What's your news?"

Taking the returned stick from Legend this time, Draco threw it again and then gazed skyward. Leaves were beginning to decorate the trees now that Spring was underway. "My Father is dead."

"Draco, I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be. You have to reason to be sorry for his death, and I already did my mourning when he lost his soul." Draco drew in a deep breath, like he was still trying to convince himself what he'd just said was true. "This is a blessing, really."

"But he was your _Father…_ "

Draco shrugged, "He was. Kind of a manic arsehole from time to time… but he had his moments, I suppose. The whole falling-in-with-the-Dark-Lord bit, I could have done without. He did explain his reasons to me once. I'm not sure I understood them entirely, but then, there were a lot of things he did that I didn't understand."

Hermione remained silent while Draco spoke seemingly half to her and half to the sky, as he was still staring upward. She picked up the stick Caliber had returned with and threw it for him.

With a sigh, Draco concluded, "I wasn't going to have a funeral for him. I know pureblood custom demands I do something ostentatious for the occasion, but I think he made enough of an impression while living, you know? I'll put him next to my Mother in the family plot behind the Manor's gardens."

"If it's custom, though, maybe…" Hermione began.

"No," he answered firmly, wrenching his gaze back to her. Capturing a flyaway curl between his fingers, Draco tucked it gently behind her ear, "Some of the other customs must be wrong too, if they also dictate that you and I are wrong."

A soft smile curved onto Hermione's lips and a small shard of her heart began to knit itself back together.


	46. Morning Glories

Author's Note: Two chapters in one day! I really am trying to finish this by the end of the month, which is looking extremely doable. Thanks to I was BOTWP, Sam Wallflower and Musicangel913 for the reviews. I know someone else reviewed too, but fanfiction is not letting me access who it was. I'm sorry! I love you!

 **ATTENTION PLEASE** : There is a big ole lemon ahead. Hopefully I did it okay. If that's not your thing, there is no real live plot in this chapter except perhaps the very first bit, so feel free to skip the rest. However, I suspect many of you are like me and enjoy an occasional sex scene, or you wouldn't be on this website in the first place. You have been warned.

.

.

Draco Floo'd back to Woodhaven from Malfoy Manor with a deep frown etched into his face. He'd just returned from the Ministry, where he had met with several people, none of whom seemed to have told him anything he wanted or expected to hear.

A visit with Martin Laurence from the Auror office had confirmed there was still no sign of Deimos Lestrange, a hopeful trail having recently gone cold. A visit from Warrington, Draco's lawyer, had revealed the wards on Malfoy Manor were now mostly working again. This seemed to indicate that many of their failings had been tied to Lucius's lifeline, which raised a whole host of other questions Warrington insisted had to be raised at Lestrange's next hearing.

In addition, an accidentally jilted ambassador from Norway had to be soothed, a law proposal from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department had to be politely denied, and Draco's secretary had suffered a mental breakdown in response to a nasty break-up with her boyfriend. It had been a trying day.

It had been Hermione's second day back at work and he'd tried to leave her alone, but Draco found his mind wandering downstairs at least once an hour. It had been a relief to go home. By now the sun was beginning its descent and the windows were taking in the last of the day's light, now tinged with rays of red and orange from a spectacular, far-off sunset.

Tramping up the stairs to the East Tower and pulling off his robes and tie at the same time, Draco was ready to fall face-first onto the bed in exhaustion and frustration. To his surprise, Hermione was there.

"You're late," she stated.

The corners of Draco's mouth turned up as he recalled saying those very words to her months ago, when she'd first starting going to Terrazza Mosaico with any sort of regularity. "I would have come sooner if I'd known you were going to be here. Did you let yourself in?"

"I got rid of your doxy infestation," she explained, gesturing to the curtains on the window nearest the bed.

"I did _not_ have an infestation."

"You were _going_ to if you let it go any longer."

Draco waved this information away and went to inspect the doxy-free area. "Huh," was all he said, letting the curtains fall back into place. A light Spring rain had begun to fall.

"A 'thank you' would suffice," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms and thrusting her nose into the air.

Smirking at her, Draco approached and kissed her, relishing the fact that she couldn't help but melt into him. "Your wandwork is admirable," he told her to soothe her ego. Pulling his wand from his pocket and starting toward the window again, he continued, "The only problem left with the window is that these effing flowers are everywhere."

"Oh, don't," Hermione pleaded, stopping him by taking his hand. The morning glories curled innocently into the room, some covered in rain droplets. "They're so nice."

"They keep the window from shutting all the way," Draco protested.

"Just leave a few…"

Draco sighed deeply and shook his head in disbelief at how soft he'd gone in giving in to her over a few flowers. He placed his wand on the nightstand in defeat. Turning to tease her some more, he noticed Hermione starting strangely at the table where he'd left his wand. He glanced down to see what had caught her gaze and found his wand was resting parallel to hers. For some reason, this seemed significant.

 _How very intimate_ , he thought.

Draco glanced back at her and was struck by the way the last of the day's sunlight eked in through the window and cast its glow around her. She must have changed out of her professional clothing to deal with the doxies and was wearing an old t-shirt and jeans. Her hair was braided back to keep it out of her face, but some of the curls near her ears and temples had already been liberated.

"You're beautiful, Hermione."

She gaped. " _What_?"

"I don't think I've ever told you before."

Frowning at him, she scoffed, "While I'm glad you think so… I respectfully disagree."

Draco reached out to brush some of the escaped curls away from her face and offered her an ironic half-smile. "Even your ridiculous hair…"

He kissed her mouth, then the side of her lip, then trailed kisses down her neck and onto her collarbone. His fingers left traces of gooseflesh behind as they softly brushed the skin of her arm, his hand drifting slowly along the curve of her waist.

Hermione placed her hand on his chest and quietly enjoyed the feeling of being held by him. She clutched the soft fabric of his shirt, shivering when he nipped playfully at the skin of her neck. Running her fingers down his chest, she felt Draco shudder delightfully in response.

His breath was somewhat rickety and uneven on her neck as he pressed against her, their bodies entwined, sharing heat. Hermione could feel the early evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh through his pants and she froze in worry.

 _Here we go again_ , she thought with trepidation. _Dear Merlin, please don't let this end up the way it did last time…_

Draco's lips wandered as low as her t-shirt would allow. With a grunt of annoyance, he tugged at the garment and Hermione helped him pull it off. She wore a plain gray undershirt beneath and it clung to the gentle curve of her body. His eyes took in the look of her and noticed she was trembling.

"Don't be nervous," he whispered, as though he'd heard the echo of her thoughts in his own mind. "I want to make you feel good." In his head, he added, _I'm not going anywhere._

She felt something hit the back of her knees and realized it was his bed. Swallowing heavily, she allowed him to gently push her back onto it. He kissed her again, his fingers trailing lower across her stomach, fluidly unbuttoning her jeans with two fingers.

Draco's mind vaguely registered that Hermione's pants smelled a bit like Doxycide as he slid them down her legs. Tossing them aside, he surveyed the view for a moment before he began stoking the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh. He'd done this a few times before – years ago – but never with this much slow deliberation.

Hermione felt her body flush with want, but a nervous sensation began to build up in her chest, too. Using his fingers to pry her knees apart, Draco slithered back up her torso to capture her mouth with a deep kiss, as if he could feel her reservations. He felt her relax around him as she exhaled deeply through her nose, returning the kiss like a sealed promise.

He was gratified to feel she was already damp with desire as he lightly pushed away the thin fabric of her underwear and pressed his fingers against her clitoris. The fervor in her kiss became urgent at this slight touch and she pushed her tongue into his mouth.

Draco's senses felt heightened; her frenzy was sending his very blood wild and it took all of his effort to combat her with a wave of calm. He wanted to give her pleasure… _softly_ , to prove he cared. His own pleasure, he wasn't worried about. He'd become rather good at waiting through years of practice.

Tentatively, one of his long fingers entered her and she shuddered against him. He could feel his cock twitch where they were straining against his pants, but he stoically ignored it. Their mouths parted for a moment so he could admire the sight of her flushed cheeks and tousled hair beginning to come loose from its braid where it was rubbing against the quilt on the bed. Her lips were already swollen and pink from kissing, her dark eyelashes fluttering as he added another finger and twisted. She made a small, velvet noise of bliss as his thumb swirled simultaneously over her entrance.

Draco spent several minutes lazily kissing her neck and collarbone as his fingers guided her to the precipice. Hermione began to feel a climax building. Her essence was completely ensnared by his and he could tell she was close.

"Hermione…" he hummed into her ear. _Come for me._ He became uncomfortably hard when he felt her clench around his fingers. Involuntarily, she uttered a low moan that lit a fire inside his gut.

Panting, Hermione came down from her high, trying to catch her breath. She was seeing spots, like her surroundings weren't even there.

Dazed and invigorated, Draco had felt her pleasure in the void and it had been spectacular. He flipped off of her so that he was lying on his back beside her, feeling rather pleased with himself. Firmly, he thought, _She needed that._

He resolved on taking a cold shower in a little bit, but a movement by his groin dragged him back to earth. Hermione was reaching for his belt buckle, unbuttoning his trousers. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Hermione titled her head in innocent confusion and answered, "Returning the favor…" as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She was dressed in only her undershirt and slightly-askew panties, her cheeks flushed with the aftermath of her orgasm. Draco didn't think he'd ever seen anything more arousing in his life.

Still, he shook his head, "That's _not_ what I was trying to get out of this. I wanted to make you feel good."

"I know," she answered, her face twisting into a small smile. "You did."

Hermione couldn't help but feel a burning curiosity as she slid his trousers down toward his knees. When his erection sprang forth and she was faced with his member, she noticed he was thicker than she was used to. Softly, she dragged her fingers down his length and he threw his head back at her touch, his whole body shuddering.

With a low growl, Draco pulled his shirt over his head and reached for her undershirt while she shimmied out of her knickers, rendering them both fully nude. He reveled in the symmetry of her round breasts. They were small, but perfectly fit to her body, accentuating her gentle curve. The lovely constellation of beauty marks that always seemed to tease him from under her shirt was finally bared to him and he took a split-second to appreciate their presence.

He _certainly_ wasn't going to complain about this… but he still tried not to think _too_ hard about what they were doing. It would be something to deal with another time.

Hermione gazed up at him. Draco's body was lanky and lean, not overly muscular except for his legs. The hair on his chest was sparse, only slightly darker than the platinum hair on his head, and ran in a thin line down his stomach to his stiffened member. His silver eyes were alive, gazing at her with a kind of hunger she wasn't used to seeing directed at her.

"Draco…" she murmured, running the back of her fingers down his cock again.

He leaned into her and breathed into her hair, trying not to feel too self-conscious about his body. "Hmm?"

What she wanted to say, she wasn't exactly sure. She wondered if he would make a good lover. She'd only ever been with Ron before and that had been naïve and sometimes playful. It had been a few months shy of a year since an encounter like this one. _I wonder if it's been awhile for him, too?_

"I… care for you," she settled, breathing heavily as he nipped at her neck.

"I know," he hummed as he kissed the sensitive spot under her ear. Her hand, still wrapped around his cock, tightened as her breath came somewhat quicker.

She absentmindedly began pumping his member with her hand. _Stars, that's good_ , he inwardly moaned.

"I… need to know… that you care for me, too… before we continue."

He ceased his onslaught on her neck and pulled his head up to look her in the eyes. His eyebrows were knitted together when he responded, "I should have thought that was obvious."

Nodding vigorously, she replied, "Yes, but I've only ever been with one other person before. This is… rather intimate. I just… need to know…"

Draco paused. _So Hermione isn't a virgin_ , he concluded. It didn't surprise him. He simply hadn't really given the matter much thought. Draco didn't want to think about who'd been there before him, though he suspected he already knew. It felt too gratifying not to continue. "Hermione, I care for you more than I thought I could care about anything."

She bit her lip; the sight drove him wild. Fuzzily, his brain finally registered the rest of what she'd said. _What did she just say about continuing? Did she mean…?_

Draco thought about this for a split second before he realized that yes, he _did_ want to continue. There was no way he would want to stop now that they'd begun. This was right. Still…

"I've never been with anyone," he blurted out unexpectedly.

Her hand froze and she felt him twitch beneath her fingers. Hermione was shocked, though she couldn't put her finger on exactly why. All the rumors she'd heard about him and Pansy back at Hogwarts, and then he'd been engaged for so long. She wasn't expecting... this.

Feeling a weight settle into the pit of her stomach, Hermione froze up as the realization overcame her… this couldn't ever be _just_ _sex_ with him. It would be his first. She began to panic.

"Relax," Draco murmured with a confidence he didn't really feel, pushing her back onto the bed and trying to reassure her with a trademark smirk. Her hand fell away to grasp the sheets tightly. Hermione thought she noticed a glint of apprehension in his gray eyes, but he swooped down to capture her in a searing kiss and her train of thought completely derailed. She melted into a puddle of want that held no regard for her reservations. She didn't know it was possible to want someone so badly after having just climaxed. She needed him.

They tumbled around on the sheets for a few minutes, both of them building up resolve and sexual frustration. _Don't overthink this_ , Draco finally told himself. _You love her, remember?_

His fingers pushed her legs apart and he placed his knees on the opposite sides of her thighs. She could feel his member perched right outside her sopping entrance and she was both excited and frightened. Somehow she could sense both those feelings racing through him, as well: the wild beating of his heart and the blood pumping quickly through him, she could feel like an echo in her own body.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she whispered, mentally grasping the implications and hoping he was, too.

Hermione could feel his hesitation. He used one finger trace the line of beauty marks adorning her collarbone. "Do you?"

She shook her head 'yes' because every inch of her body was desperately craving him.

His brows furrowed, manhood still hesitated outside of her. "Are you sure?"

Warm amber eyes met stormy gray and she leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. Their connection seared through them reassuringly. "I want you."

He pushed in and Hermione felt her hips buck against him with the sudden sensation. He moved slowly, filling and stretching her, and they each marveled at the sensations running like electricity through their bodies. Hermione could feel Draco's pleasure… how his blood rushed south. She felt the shock he was experiencing at actually being inside her… felt how he was feeling _about_ her… and that was reassuring.

Draco pulled out most of the way and pushed back in, emitting a low groan. He could feel her tight walls cinched around his cock and it felt better than he'd ever imagined it could. He also felt other, unexpected things… he felt her pleasure at being filled by him… the desire coursing through her veins… the blossoming feeling in her heart that ached like an old bruise, and he _knew_ – somehow – in that moment, that she really _did_ love him.

This realization giving him a new confidence, he began to pump back and forth within her, a few inches at a time, doing whatever felt natural. Their blood pulsed through their veins together. The beat of their hearts as their hips ground together, was synced. Her head tilted back she emitted a small moan, both from the physical pleasure and the sensuous melding they were experiencing.

He was enveloped by her essence. They felt mixed, no longer like two people. Between their mutual panting, she murmured his name softly, "Draco…"

Her voice, thick with lust, whispering his name, brought out the wild in him. He rocked deeper into her, his tongue ravaging her mouth as he continued to thrust harder. His motions became arrhythmic and she noticed his jaw clenched hard. She began to kiss his jawline with a rough sort of ferociousness she didn't realize she had in her.

A particularly deep thrust ground their hips together and elicited a soft groan from each of their lips and she felt him begin to swell inside of her. Her back arched into him as she felt her own pleasure rise as his did, sweet release beckoning…

She tightened around him and shuddered as her body was rocked by a seismic orgasm of her own _and_ his at the same time. Her flushed face was Draco's last image before he squeezed his eyes shut, crying out gutturally and fell, panting, onto her, their foreheads pressed together.

A moment of serene blankness gave them time for their breathing to stabilize as they filtered, bit by bit, back into two separate beings. He was still inside her, the feeling of connection receding but still in place. It was a calm washing of the ocean over the sand, a blending of liminal space.

 _A blending of liminal space_ , he recalled privately, as if he'd been idly reminded of it by a bystander. _I know… it's her… it's us._

As Hermione floated back down to earth, her vision still dotted with spots, an entirely different mental awareness settled into her mind. She had never experienced anything close to that kind of orgasm in her life. It had seemed to go on for a very long time… and she had felt _his_ as well as hers. Their connection, unusual as it was, seemed oddly raw and magnified now.

Then, another thought struck her like a different chord: _Draco Malfoy has just lost his virginity to me._ The entire of concept made her feel strange, somehow protective of him.

A minute passed before Draco pulled his depleted member from her, releasing a wave of both of their viscous fluids that left a visible mark on the comforter. He collapsed beside her and reached out to pull her closer. She ran her fingers down his chest, taking in the sight of him when he was completely undone and feeling oddly possessive.

"That was… I've never felt anything like that," Hermione whispered to him as they lay pressed against one another, their sweat slick on their bodies. She pushed a stray strand of his hair away from his face.

He kissed her forehead. "We go again in a couple of minutes."

She smirked into the crook of his shoulder where her head was nestled as they lay back silently, a little dazed by the intensity of their lovemaking. Her hair had exploded from its braid alarmingly and he tucked some flyaway pieces away from her eyes.

Shortly, he turned back to face her and suggestively cocked an eyebrow. Fighting the urge to grin stupidly, she met his lips again. The scent of light rainfall and morning glories permeated through the window.


	47. Nightmares and Grief

Author's Note: Soooo fanfiction's reviews are all wonky at the moment, if anyone hasn't noticed. For whatever reason, my e-mail alerts have also been down. I can see that some people reviewed, but not _who_ or _what._ As you've probably noticed, I usually like to thank everyone individually (if you took the time to leave me your thoughts, I appreciate you!) but since I am not entirely sure who to thank, please pretend I did! I have assurances that FFnet is attempting to fix this problem... hopefully soon because I am maddeningly curious. Here is another chapter in the mean time.

.

.

 _He was passing down the hall toward… something. He wasn't sure what exactly, but there was a creeping feeling like whatever it was, wasn't good. Turning a corner, he realized he was walking toward the armory at Malfoy Manor. Blood was dripping from his left arm, where strips of flesh were peeled away, revealing the overlapping muscles and tendons beneath. Despite this, he somehow knew he must open that armory door…_

 _As he reached for the handle, the ghostly symbol of the Dark Mark materialized from the keyhole, expanding before him and writhing in agitated malcontent. Like a sentient being, the skull seemed to cackle sickeningly as it swooped toward him. The snake darted from it mouth and wrapped itself around his exposed arm, sinking into his skin and making his very soul screech in horror at its touch. The Mark was back, burning itself into his arm._

 _His hand reached out for the handle of the door without his mind's permission. It swung inward._

 _Blood spattered the walls and floor. He stepped into the armory and the door shut behind him, cutting off any hope for escape. Through the center of the room was a bloody trail like fallen rose petals, growing larger the closer to the center he got. His feet seemed to move forward on their own…_

 _She swung from the ceiling, the rope cutting into her throat and dripping blood into the puddle spreading by her feet. Her face was deathly white, her life having been drained away hours ago. She was naked, her breast had been cut open to reveal an empty chest cavity…_

 _Wake up!_ Hermione exclaimed.

Panting heavily, Draco's eyes snapped open. The scent of falling rain and growing things floated on a chill breeze passing through the crack in the window. Hermione had the white linen sheets tucked under her armpits to preserve her modesty as she sat up. Her dark amber eyes open and alert, unwavering from him.

Draco felt a cold sweat dampening his forehead and wiped it away with his forearm, quickly checking – just in case – that the Dark Mark hadn't actually returned. The flesh of his left arm was scarred and ugly but all his own pale skin, unmarred.

He let out a huge breath of relief and pressed his head backward into the pillow, heart still beating quickly and trying to ignore the pointed look Hermione casting him.

Frowning, he recalled the ending of the dream. _How did she wake me up?_

 _Like this_.

Slowly, Draco's head turned to face the blushing witch, naked in the bed beside him. "That's not possible."

"The fact that you finished a conversation aloud that we started in our heads, suggests otherwise," Hermione informed him matter-of-factly. Then, looking deadly serious, she continued, "Do… you want to talk about your dream?"

Scowling deeply at her, he conjured up his best imitation of the voice Lucius had often used to instill a sense of finality, "We will not be discussing it."

She nodded, though she didn't look pleased. "Okay. But you should know that I am a pretty capable witch. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Draco sighed. The sheets fell away from him as he pulled her face in toward his for a kiss.

They had spent much of the night having frantic sex until a muscle near Hermione's bum had ached and Draco couldn't get it up anymore; they'd only been asleep a couple of hours. Unlike the passion-fueled liplock of the previous evening, the kiss he planted on her lips now was comparatively gentle with a touch of possessiveness.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

 _If you don't want to talk about your dream, do you want to talk about this?_

"Dammit, Hermione, get out of my head!" he growled.

"Sorry. It's just _interesting_ , isn't it?"

He was silent, staring grumpily at the wall.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I tell you about my trip to _Internationale Bibliothek der Magie_?"

"Hermione, it's four in the morning."

"I know," she conceded, "but we're both awake now."

 _How about we just shag instead?_

She breathed in as the echo bounced through her mind and winced, "My arse is too sore. I can't even remember what we were doing that made me pull a muscle there."

Draco was staring at her, "I didn't even know you said the word 'arse'."

Hermione fidgeted for a moment, twisting the corner of the sheets in her fingers, "I felt your orgasms last night, like they were mine."

"I felt yours, too. I had a sneaking suspicion that wasn't normal…"

"Can I tell you about the Berlin library now?"

"It's related, I assume…?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I found some interesting information in an old book written in the 800s. What we have… I _swear_ I didn't make this up… I think it's called a… soul bond."

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her but said nothing, preferring to let her continue. He could decide if the information were valid or useful after she explained further, despite how ludicrous it sounded just then.

She must have felt self-conscious about how forward the term sounded, because her cheeks were tinged with pink as she explained, "It means that… well, sometimes stars leave a mark on people… in their blood, and in their soul. Any number of persons can share a soul bond when they're marked by the same star: sometimes whole groups of people… sometimes only two. The bond supposedly acts as a way to communicate between souls. The book's research seemed to indicate that sometimes bonded people might hear one another's thoughts from time to time…"

She trailed away into a momentary silence. Then Draco agreed, "It's like Theo's experiment. He told me what he found when he examined _your_ blood: you've got stardust, too."

"I suspected I might," Hermione admitted, her hand clenching around the sheet. "I hadn't bothered to ask yet, what with everything that's been going on. It's the same concentrations of minerals, too... isn't it?"

He only nodded slowly in response, pulling her back down onto the bed to lay with him. The feel of her naked body pressed into his stirred familiar feelings centered around his groin.

Ignoring his growing hard-on pushing into the small of her back, Hermione stared at the stone of the wall and asked, "Do you regret having sex with me?"

He bit out a short, barking laugh. "Absolutely _not_. Why would you think that?"

Hermione shrugged with an air of nonchalance she didn't really feel. _It was your first time… we should have talked about it first._

Draco propped himself up on his elbow to face her. "When I was younger, I thought for sure I would want to take advantage of the fact that pureblood men aren't subjected to the same restrictions on bodily virtue that the women are… But then I got distracted by joining the Death Eaters and the bloody Dark Lord, trying to save my family. Sex was one of the last things on my mind."

"Understandably…" Hermione murmured, still staring at the wall but listening raptly.

"When everything was over, I began to feel desire again, but my ideals had changed."

She turned to face him and frowned, "What do you mean?"

Draco shrugged, "I just decided the engagement rules purebloods are bound to when they agree to a Sanctus Pur are slanted. They aren't really fair. I hadn't thought much about fairness up until that point in my life, but I did then. Why should a woman be forced to save herself for marriage, while a man could sleep with as many other women – or men, if he preferred – as he liked?"

Sucking on the inside of her cheek, Hermione granted, "That makes logical sense. You were honoring your future spouse."

"Exactly. I wanted to be able to _give_ something when I took something, you know? Then, maybe, it wouldn't feel quite so much like just... _taking_."

Hermione sat up again, suddenly very uncomfortable. "I see. Taking… like I did, you mean?"

"What?" he demanded at the sudden change in the conversation. "No."

"I mean, because obviously I was with Ron before… and he was… _my_ _first_ ," she stressed, her shoulders tense as she gathered the sheets around her.

"I'm not really sure what to say to that," he told her truthfully, a tinge of jealousy coloring his cheeks. "I assumed it was the Weasel, but it's another thing to hear it, I guess."

Hermione tossed the covers from her body and quickly pulled her cold pants off the stone floor in her haste to depart. Snarling, she uttered, "Well _forgive_ me for not keeping you in mind, _years ago_ , when I was losing my virginity to one of my best friends!"

Draco groaned, "Don't do this… that wasn't what I bloody _meant_."

"What did you mean, then?" she insisted, pulling on her shoes.

"It was just… thoughtless wording."

Casting him a black look, she flung her t-shirt on, snatched her wand from the bedside table where it still rested beside his, and hurled herself toward the fireplace, where she grabbed a handful of Floo powder. Her hand was shaking in shame and anger, spilling some of the powder onto the floor where it settled in-between the cracks in the stone.

 _Don't do this, Hermione…_

The fireplace carried her away with a flash of green flame.

Sinking back into the bed, Draco huffed in frustration and muttered, "Stupid bint. That wasn't what I _meant_."

He could still feel the residual warmth from where her body had been resting next to his. Turning over, he could smell the scent of her hair on the pillow next to him and the lingering aroma of the morning glories she'd insisted he keep. Last night had been the best night of his life: he'd spent it basking in Hermione's body and her mind at the same time, sharing thoughts and instincts while reveling in the wonderful feel of her body enveloping his.

Then she had to ruin it by not hearing him out.

A sense of remorse settled itself into his chest, unbidden and unwelcome. How must it feel to have given yourself to someone who no longer loved you, except as a friend? He remembered Ginny telling him about all the things Hermione had wanted from Weasley. She'd probably only had sex with him in the first place, because she thought those things were a given with him. Being left after years of believing that, must have been awful…

Draco stared angrily at the empty fireplace grate where she'd disappeared minutes ago. _It must have been like this._

After the nightmare he'd had, he wasn't sure sleep was the answer to his agitation, and he was forced into reflection.

There were two big things he was keeping from Hermione at the moment: the Malfoy prophecy and her involvement in it… and the fact that he loved her.

The first secret, he felt he was right in keeping from her. His Father had specifically told him that the prophecy had only ever been known to _Malfoys_ , and then only two at a time, for hundreds of years. While Draco knew he cared for Hermione – and while the traditions his family had upheld for generations seemed to be falling away from his practice like autumn leaves – he didn't think he was ready to tell her about something of that magnitude quite yet.

The fact that he loved her on the other hand…

For a moment, he tried to convince himself he didn't love her anymore after the argument they'd just had, but it was a fool's errand. If anything, he loved her more than he had the previous night. Hell, he loved her more now than he had five minutes ago…

He punched his pillow in frustration. Having never been prepared to experience something like this, Draco wasn't sure how to handle the situation. It was a final, grim understanding that made him realize, "I should've told her."

.

.

Hermione felt it was a mercy the Floo that took her from Woodhaven could transport her directly into her own room at Grimmauld Place. She had set up the magically expanded bedroom to resemble her flat back in Chipping Norton and that was comforting in a small way.

Collapsing onto her bed, she felt sure she would feel better if she could have a good cry, but the tears wouldn't come. Frustrated, she cast some silencing charms on the room and screamed into her pillow for a few moments instead.

Once she was done, she sat up and observed the witch in the mirror. Her hair was an utter wreck, curls so mussed they stuck out almost parallel to the floor. Her eyes bore the telltale puffiness of someone who hadn't got enough sleep for many weeks. It had taken her this long to notice, but she'd put her t-shirt on backwards in her haste to get away from Draco. Wrenching the garment off, she dressed herself in her sleep clothes and lay down on her bed to try to get some rest before she had to go to work in a few hours. The muscle she'd pulled during coitus the previous night ached.

A light knock on the door was followed up by Ginny's voice filtering softly through the door. "Hermione, are you up?"

With a sigh, Hermione got up and opened the door a crack. "Yes."

"Can I come in?"

Ginny entered and sat down on the bed beside her friend. She'd pulled her red hair back for sleep, but the neatness of her braid revealed she hadn't spent much time on her pillow that night.

"I heard the Floo in your room on my way to the loo. Then I heard you cast some silencing charms. Do you want to talk about it?"

Hermione really didn't want to complain about Draco to Ginny… not after the struggle she'd gone through to get her friend to accept the reality of their strange relationship. She voiced the other thing that was bothering her. "I miss my Mum. She was always there to comfort me when I was sad, or when I was confused. There were just so many moments I took for granted because I assumed I had so much more time with both my parents."

Ginny nodded sagely and responded, "Your grief is natural, Hermione."

"It doesn't mean it's easy."

"No," Ginny shook her head. "It's not supposed to be easy. It's the last act of love we give to people we cared about, after they're gone. It never goes away. As long as you still love someone, it will remain. I think... I mean, I still feel it for Fred. I'm not sure I ever won't. Some days it's joy at the memories of what used to be, some days it's a heavy fog that rolls in, and then the next day the fog recedes again. It's a constant ebb and flow of joy and pain and love."

Hermione sniffed dryly. "That was _wise_ , Ginny."

"It has been known to happen," she answered flippantly. "Just remember the ocean… ebb and flow, ebb and flow… it hurts worse for you now because it's fresh. You're still learning how to swim. It will be there forever, but it _will_ get easier."


	48. So Rarely Wrong

Author's Note: Yay! The reviews are working again! Lots of thank you's to give out for the last _two_ chapters: Musicangel913, Maramalolz, Frogster, I was BOTWP, annalyciareads, the Guest reviewer, skellyshook, K. E. Degz, jperks, fuzzy6, Sam Wallflower, siewchee12345, 4fanci, cmtaylor531, romancenerd7878 and Chester99. Thanks, guys!

.

.

The sun had not yet risen, but the birds in the wood were already heralding the coming of day. Draco found he couldn't sleep after Hermione had left. He tossed and turned, but the more he focused on sleeping, the less tired he felt.

It was just after six when he finally gave up trying. Pulling on some clean clothes, he decided to get a start on the day. He fed the dogs – always a messy affair – and Floo'd to Malfoy Manor to check on the wards.

Two of the house elves greeted him with a bow and one squeaked, "Good morning, Master! There is mail for you."

With a snap of his fingers, the elf produced an envelope made of vaguely familiar cardstock from thin air. Draco took the envelope, which bore his name in simple calligraphy.

"Is you needing anything, Master?" the other elf queried.

"No, thank you both. I won't be staying long this morning."

They bowed and disappeared as Draco opened the envelope. Surprisingly, it was from Signore Abruzzese.

 _Warmest Salutations, Mister Malfoy,  
_ _I hope this note finds you well. I am planning some entertainment for the coming weekend and would like to extend an invitation to you, as well as to Miss Hermione Granger – however, any mail I send to her returns undeliverable. Perhaps her residence has changed, but my owls seem unable to find her. Would you please pass my humble invitation along, should you see her?  
_ _Hoping to enjoy the pleasure of your company this Saturday night!  
_ _Yours &tc. &tc.  
_ _Matteo Abruzzese_

Out of the folded cardstock fell two formal invitations to the Italian socialite's gathering, one for Draco and one for Hermione. It indicated the date and time, as well as the host's willingness for them to bring a plus one.

Draco stared at the invitation, remembering the last one of Abruzzese's legendary parties (the _only_ one) he'd been to. He'd brought Astoria, while Hermione had showed up with Harry as her date. It had been one of Astoria's last nights among the living.

Hands shaking slightly with rage at the injustice of his late fiancée's death, Draco remembered proudly introducing Astoria to everyone, including Hermione.

Squinting slightly as though it might help, Draco tried to visualize what Astoria had worn that evening, but he couldn't recall. When it came down to it, some of the finer details of who she had been as a person seemed fuzzy, too.

What color had her eyes been? He couldn't remember, but perhaps they were blue. Yes, they were definitely a light, crystal blue. Nothing at all like Hermione's, which were dark and warm, like coffee. Hermione had looked beautiful that evening and Draco had been jealous when she had danced with other men before him… and then again, when she'd disappeared into the gardens with Viktor Krum.

"She goes with me this time, or not at all," Draco decided firmly, tucking both invitations into his robes. In his head, he added, _Nevermind that she's mad at me. I'll not have her fawned over by the likes of Krum, or worse_.

Astoria had been a beautiful person; Hermione's beauty was perhaps less conventional, but it shone through in everything she did. Astoria had been promised to Draco like property owned by her parents; Hermione was the forbidden fruit. Astoria had been smart and shrewd; Hermione constantly sought to improve her intelligence. Astoria had considered Draco to be a good man; Hermione challenged him to be a better person. Astoria had been proud to call a Malfoy her fiancée; Hermione dared Draco to deserve her.

Perhaps the main difference between Astoria and Hermione, Draco concluded, was that while he had been eager to show off the former at a public gathering like Abruzzese's… he would be honored to be there with the latter.

 _Would I be with Hermione at all if Astoria hadn't been killed?_ he wondered privately. He couldn't say, as it had never been an option. But perhaps it was telling that he had kissed Hermione before he'd even known of Astoria's death.

The sun was stretching tendrils of light from below the horizon, signaling that day had officially begun. Suddenly, the argument Hermione had begun that morning seemed insignificant. Draco had made his unspoken pledge to Hermione the night before. It occurred to him now that perhaps she hadn't known that was what it was… a promise.

An idea surfaced into the forefront of his mind and he glanced at the clock. Surely he had enough time to pull it off. It wasn't quite seven and the Ministry would still be relatively empty at this hour on a Thursday morning.

Smirking to himself, he strode to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo power.

.

.

Hermione had managed a meager fifty minutes of sleep when her alarm woke her. She dragged herself from her bed and readied for work without animation. Tucking her hair back into a neat bun, she chose one of her drabbest outfits, matching her mood. She tried not to think about Draco at all, but it was hard not to when the muscle she'd pulled in her bum still ached and she could swear she smelled him on her skin, despite that she'd showered. He even seemed vaguely present in the back of her mind.

She Apparated to work later than usual and had to hustle toward the lift to make it into the office on time. Once she'd reached her floor, Hermione gathered her professional self from within and forced a smile onto her face as she made her way down the hall.

Toula was waiting for her outside their shared office door. Her friend was wearing a grin so wide, it immediately frightened Hermione.

"Erm, why aren't we going in?" she questioned, afraid of the answer.

Toula chuckled deeply, her dark eyes glittering. Without a word, she turned the handle and pushed the office door open.

Hermione's eyes grew round as galleons as she was blasted with the sight and smell of flowers. Their office was covered in climbing morning glories, infiltrating every square inch that was available and even scaling the walls and ceiling.

Livius Trimble happened to be passing by at that moment and paused by the door, taking in the ostentatious display within the office. He glanced between Toula – who was now openly laughing – to Hermione, who was staring dumbfounded at the presentation.

"Papadopoulos, what is going on here?" Trimble queried.

Toula attempted to control her mirth, but it only seemed to grow as she tried to contain it. In the end, she was only able to raise a shaking finger to point at Hermione.

"Granger? Why has your office been transfigured into a greenhouse?"

There was not a doubt in Hermione's mind as to why the flowers were there.

"I…" she stuttered, her face turning crimson, "…will… clear it out, sir."

Trimble eyed the overabundance of flowers critically, "What, and ruin all the work your chap went through for you? Whoever he is and whatever he did, I hope you forgive him."

Toula burst into fresh fits of howling laughter, which took several minutes to contain.

Hermione chewed her lip and swallowed deeply. Broadening her mind, she felt for Draco's presence without openly communicating with him. She knew it had been him. Who else could it be? But she wanted to be sure…

His smug glow of contentedness confirmed her suspicion.

.

.

The warmth in the bed next to him wasn't Hermione, Draco knew, but he kept his eyelids pressed together once he'd awakened anyway. Just to pretend.

When he finally opened an eye, he took note of the two dogs sprawled shamelessly across the comforter. Aster, the female greyhound that had once belonged to Lucius, was back-to-back with Annie, Narcissa's little Blue Heeler. Meanwhile, Legend and Festus were too large for the bed and were companionably nearby on the rug by the fireplace. They both looked up when Draco stirred.

It was bright out now. Draco had spent nearly half an hour furtively covering Hermione's office in a rather ostentatious display of affection that he was sure would get the attention of her entire floor – which had been his goal.

Pleased that he'd made his intentions known, Draco had owled Theo to meet him at Malfoy Manor later to look at the wards, then Floo'd back to Woodhaven to catch up on his missed sleep.

Awakening now and glancing at the clock, he realized Hermione must have stumbled into her office over an hour ago. He imagined what the look on her face might have been with no small sense of satisfaction.

Draco likely would have gone back to sleep for a few minutes longer if there hadn't been a muffled crash from downstairs. Suddenly alert, he snatched his wand from the bedside table. Hopefully it had just been one of the other dogs…

"Homenum Revelio."

A high-pitched woman's scream echoed from down the stairs and all four dogs in the room with him were suddenly alert. Legend's booming bark preceded the Newfoundland as he bounded down the stairs. Draco leapt from his bed and proceeded after him with caution.

He needn't have bothered. The would-be intruder was only the housekeeper, startled by Draco's spell, which made it seem like something had swooped down upon her from above. She was a middle-aged Irish witch, portly and with bouncing, red curls.

It was an awkward meeting. Her employer clearly knew she had been collecting the gold but shirking her weekly duties. Not to mention, he was only wearing his pajama pants for their introduction.

Draco returned up to the master suite to properly dress himself before Floo'ing to Malfoy Manor for the second time. He wasn't meeting Theo there until later, but at least it would be less awkward than being at Woodhaven with the lazy housekeeper. Besides, the elves made a far better lunch than anything he could put together at Woodhaven.

Theo, it turned out, was early. He had already fully inspected the wards, and by the time Draco had arrived, it was to find his friend making himself comfortable in the drawing room with some biscuits and a bottle of brandy.

Frowning, Draco reprimanded, "It's lunchtime, Theo. Brandy is an after-dinner drink."

Theo spread his arms wide and propped his feet up on the table. "Hey. It's _me_."

"That's true enough," Draco conceded, sitting opposite his friend. "How are the wards?"

"Nearly pristine. One little problem for you, though: they're in such good working condition, they'll no longer admit any Mudbloods. It seems you can blame that brilliant idea on Grandpa Malfoy."

Abraxas Malfoy had been the most intolerant of Draco's family members toward those of lesser blood status. He muttered, "I'll have to get rid of that one."

Theo swished his brandy around in his mouth before swallowing and chuckled, "Can't invite Muggle-born Granger over to your ancestral pureblood home with anti-Mudblood wards up."

"That's right," Draco responded coolly.

"I _was_ right before," Theo continued, grinning, "you've got it _bad_ for her."

"Yes," Draco answered simply, taking the brandy from Theo and pouring himself his own tumbler.

Sobering somewhat, Theo stated, "The other purebloods aren't really going to understand."

"That's alright."

Suspicious of Draco's nonchalance in admitting his feelings for Hermione so openly, Theo pressed, "What would your parents say if they were still alive?"

Draco shuddered. "A great deal, I suspect. Perhaps I'm lucky not to know."

Theo raised an eyebrow, "It doesn't matter to you that the others will think of you as a blood traitor?"

Draco shook his head, sipping at his brandy and forcing himself to be patient with Theo. "It did at first. But there are more important things. Besides, you know our blood really isn't _that_ different. Your studies proved that."

Theo leaned back in his seat, his eyes hard and calculating as he drained his glass. "Justify it however you like, Draco."

.

.

Harry felt, rather than heard, Hermione standing awkwardly behind him in the doorway to his office. A second later, she cleared her throat and he turned to acknowledge her. "What's up, Hermione?"

"Have you taken your lunch yet?" she wanted to know. She looked pale and had dark circles under her eyes.

He shook his head, "You want to go out?"

She nodded slowly, indicating to Harry that something was amiss. Hermione might be living in the same house as him, but he rarely saw her. She wasn't often home and didn't like to leave her room when she was there. It was like living with a hermit. "Alright."

The made their way to Diagon Alley in near-silence. Hermione seemed troubled; she uncharacteristically did not want to stop in front of Flourish & Blotts to see what new books they'd gotten in that week. Harry thought it didn't take a genius to know something was bothering her.

They sat down at seats outside a small café, as May was nearly upon them and the weather was nice. Hermione cast the usual charms they employed not to be overheard and they ordered their food.

With a sigh, Harry informed her, "We haven't been able to track down Deimos Lestrange at all. All four of us have separately been presented with a promising trail, only to find it leads to a dead end. But we'll get there."

"I appreciate your efforts," Hermione answered, sipping her water absently.

 _I guess I misinterpreted the point of this lunch_ , Harry thought with mild surprise. Ginny had informed him of Hermione's early morning despair. He'd assumed she wanted to know how close he was in catching her parents' killer.

Harry wasn't an Auror for nothing. He knew she would talk eventually, so he waited…

After a moment, Hermione asked, "Harry, do you think your relationship with Ginny would be different if you hadn't lost your virginity to her?"

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. "It's hard to say. Probably not, no."

"If Ginny had slept with one of her exes before she'd had sex with you, would that have bothered you?"

Harry mused over this for a moment, "I mean… maybe at first it would, I guess. But Ginny loves me and I know that. I love her, too. Why does it matter?"

"Draco said it bothered him that I'd had sex with Ron," Hermione stated baldly.

Harry flushed, both at her open admission that she'd been intimate with their friend, and at the implication that there was now something more between her and Malfoy. He'd known about her and Ron of course, but they'd never discussed it before.

"Then he tried to tell me that wasn't really what he intended to say, but it clearly _was_ what he meant… right?"

With a frown, Harry asked, "I thought your relationship with Malfoy wasn't physical? Your words, not mine."

She stared at him blankly, a deep blush beginning to creep onto her cheeks.

"I see," Harry observed. "Well. That isn't an image I _ever_ wanted to think about, but there it is."

"Do you think I overreacted?" she worried, twisting the corner of her napkin in her hands. "I mean, this morning when I came into work, my whole office was covered in flowers. I mean _buried_ in them. Up the walls, on the ceiling... you couldn't even walk in there. My whole department is talking about it."

Harry's eyebrows disappeared beyond his messy hair in surprise. "Malfoy left them?"

She nodded slowly.

"I never thought I'd _ever_ say this… or anything like it," Harry sighed, "but I think Malfoy really cares for you, Hermione."

"But how can I trust him not to leave? He was always such an ass…"

Harry snatched his friend's hand away from the napkin she was methodically shredding and held it firmly in both of his. "Hermione, listen to me: this time it was _you_ that ran."

Hermione looked like she'd been slapped and tried to pull her hand away.

"Perhaps, after the fiasco with Ron, you expect to be left," Harry considered, not letting her hand go despite her halfhearted struggling, "but you can't let that control the rest of your life."

Her heart sinking, Hermione thought this over thoroughly. Then, in a small voice, she asked, "I should apologize to Draco for leaving, shouldn't I?"

Harry shrugged, releasing her hand to sit back into his seat, "It's up to you. After all, it is _Malfoy_ and I still can't say I'm happy that you've decided to get involved with him. My reasons, you know already. But if you want it to work out with him, you're going to need to swallow your pride this time. You're brilliant, clever, and talented. You're fair and loyal and honestly amazing…" Hermione was blushing an even deeper scarlet now. "But no one can be perfect, Hermione, and the one thing you've never been very good at, is admitting when you're wrong. Probably because you so rarely are."

Hermione bit her lip, a tear rolling down her cheek. "Thank you, Harry."

"Are you thanking me for criticizing you?"

She shook her head, "No, I'm thanking you for being enough of a friend to show me my faults."

A companionable moment of silence followed this admission, the friends seeming to glow with their love for one another. Then their food arrived. All at once, Hermione realized she was starving.

Grinning at her, Harry suggested, "You should bring Malfoy to the Three Broomsticks the next time we all go."

"What?" she spluttered. "But… _why_? You detest him!"

"I don't," Harry insisted. "Quite honestly, I'm so tired of hating people, I can't bring myself to even be bothered with disliking Malfoy. But if he's willing to come, that will determine if he's really in it for the long haul or not."

"But… Ron…"

"If Ron is allowed bring Gabrielle around, then I can deal with Malfoy and Ron can learn to, too." Smirking, Harry added, "I won't even be an arse unless Malfoy _really_ deserves it."

"He always deserves it," Hermione murmured, smiling despite her own statement. "Okay, I'll ask him."

"But first?" Harry prompted, to make sure she hadn't forgotten.

"But first, I'll tell him I was wrong."


	49. Confessions

Author's Note: Many thanks to the beautiful, wonderful reviewers who left me their thoughts on the last chapter: jperks, I was BOTWP, Frogster, Sam Wallflower, fuzzy6, siewchee12345, skellyshook, K. E. Degz, Chester99, and 4fanci. Because I love you all, this chapter contains an abundance of fluff and a mini lemon. Real live plot to resurface in the next bit.

.

.

Winter wheat was often tougher than its summer-sown brethren and it prickled Hermione's arms and legs as she made her way through her wheat field for the first time that year. The patch of earth she'd chosen to settle onto was littered with yellow coltsfoot, lamb's ear and the husks of the ready-to-harvest wheat. She shrugged off her coat and laid it out on the ground before sitting.

A slight crinkling noise reminded her of the letter in her coat pocket and she shifted herself to pull it free.

 _Hermione-  
_ _If you're free can you come to Sunday dinner at the Burrow?  
_ _Mum is still having absolute kittens over you.  
She asks me every week if you're coming. It's driving me barmy.  
_ _-Ron_

Hermione smiled at the informal invitate, delivered by Pigwidgeon only that afternoon. She supposed she might as well go. After all, she _had_ agreed to attend a Weasley family dinner, even despite her break-up with Ron; Mrs. Weasley had made her promise. There had been so much going on in her life, an appropriate Sunday hadn't yet presented itself.

She supposed this Sunday was as good as any.

 _I'll send an owl later,_ she decided, setting the letter aside and making herself comfortable.

It wasn't exactly warm outside, as the sun was already setting. The clouds were tinged with pink and orange and there was a slight bite of winter chill lingering in the air, despite that it was almost May. She cast a gentle warming charm on herself and sighed deeply.

This field had always been a place for her to privately reflect on her thoughts when they began to overwhelm her. Grimly, she recalled what she once considered to be a cluttered mind. It seemed peaceful now in comparison to her muddled, screaming thoughts these days.

She kept trying to think of what she could say to Draco, but repeatedly came up empty. She had been in the wrong, as Harry had pointed out. Hermione knew she should apologize, but she simply wasn't a romantic person that could come up with gestures like Draco's, nor was she the type of witch who found it easy to discuss her feelings.

Smiling slightly to herself, she reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the morning glories she had tucked away earlier in the day. She had eventually been obliged to clear them all away – something Toula had refused to help with. Her friend had instead preferred to watch and asking prying questions.

Toula had already seemed to understand that it was Draco who had left the display. Hermione didn't want to know how she knew.

There were so many components to their relationship… the flowers he'd left, the Italian lessons, reading poetry to one another, dancing in Italy, hearing one another's thoughts… not to make light of the mind-blowing orgasms.

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,  
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken…" *

Hermione narrowed her eyes and tried to concentrate when she realized she couldn't recall the rest of the sonnet. It was fruitless; but what she did remember was enough to appease her. She certainly hadn't _always_ loved Draco – his asinine behavior at Hogwarts wouldn't have allowed for her to – but once she'd begun loving him, it had proven impossible for her to stop, no matter what he did.

 _Do you remember how bizarre it was that we fell together?_

She sucked in her breath as the question, clear as day, bloomed into her mind. _Yes_ , she whispered.

 _Perhaps it wasn't so bizarre._

What exactly did he mean? She couldn't be sure.

 _Come see me,_ his voice wafted lazily through her mind before his vague presence disappeared.

Hermione chewed on her lip. She wanted to go – and she knew she _should_ – but she still didn't know what she was going to say to him! She supposed she could wing it. That had seemed to be a good strategy when she was hunting horcruxes.

She paused. Had she just compared her argument with Draco to destroying portions of Voldemort's soul?

"Silly," Hermione chided herself. "That's silly. You don't have to _plan_ an apology to the man you love."

She stood, despite that she'd barely been there ten minutes. Her mind wasn't any less agitated, but perhaps this time, she wouldn't find solace in a wheat field.

.

.

She Floo'd to Woodhaven from Grimmauld Place without even pausing to change her clothes. Aries met her at the hearth grate, standing protectively beside her and nudging her hand with his nose for a scratch behind the ears.

"Hello, Aries," she murmured, patting the greyhound's head gently. The dog leaned into her slightly until she stopped.

Hermione didn't see Draco in the entrance hall, nor did she feel his presence in the immediate vicinity.

"Draco?" Her voice sounded tiny, even to her own ears. When he didn't answer her, or appear at all, she called again, "Draco?"

 _We have an extremely rare soul bond that allows us to speak into one another's minds and you want to talk out loud?_

She sucked in a breath. _Prat._

He sounded amused. _Come upstairs._

Shaking her head in disbelief at his bossiness, a smile began to play across her mouth regardless. She glanced down at Aries and scratched behind his ears a last time before padding up the winding stair to the East Tower.

Draco was waiting for her there, leaning against the wall in anticipation. When she appeared at the top of the stairs, he stalked over to her and grabbed her face, planting a searing kiss on her lips. He roughly pushed his tongue into her mouth, twisting his hands into her hair. Her soul seemed to cry out with both pleasure and hunger and she greedily kissed him back with fervor. His already-prominent erection ground into her thigh.

"Shouldn't… we… talk?" she gasped as he nipped at her neck and began to pull off her work blouse.

Draco growled at her and cast her the dirtiest look he could muster before sucking on her collarbone and making her groan loudly. He slipped his hand between them to unfasten his trousers and maneuvered her toward the bed. Rocking her backward onto it, he crawled on top of her.

"Again?" she gasped, wondering if she'd even recovered from the previous night.

His eyes were intense as a storm rolling in over the ocean as he confirmed, _Again._

She swallowed hard at the borderline animalistic way he pushed her professional skirt up and ripped her underwear away. With her skirt pooled around her waist compromisingly and her body quivering, she knew she wanted him.

Dragging his fingers across her dampened entrance, her desire quickly became obvious. With a mischievous grin, he thrust two fingers inside her without warning and was rewarded when she cried out in surprise. _Ready for me already, I see._

A blush crept onto her cheeks and she opened her mouth to protest. This wasn't how she imagined her apology to go. She hadn't even been aroused when she'd stepped into his house. "I…" she began, but he cut her off with his mouth, refusing to hear what she had to say.

Perhaps that was good; her mind didn't seem to be able to put together a coherent thought anymore. She made a small noise of protest when he pulled his fingers from her.

A second later, he wrenched her entire body up with a strength she didn't even know he had and bent her over the bed.

"Draco," she began nervously, "I haven't… _agh_!" She was parted almost viciously. He slammed fully into her, gripping her shoulder to steady them both.

 _Are you alright?_ he queried at her outburst, a touch of concern highlighting even his mental words.

 _Just fuck me, you idiot._

Draco didn't need telling twice. It felt amazing, taking her this way. He seemed to be able to push himself so much deeper inside of her, and the angle allowed for a spectacular view of her ass, bouncing slightly every time he thrust. He built up a cadence, enjoying the sight of her hands grabbing fistfuls of the sheets as he pounded her.

He knew he wasn't going to last long, but he tried anyway. It didn't seem to matter, because Hermione's orgasm was already headed toward the climax, too.

 _Come all over me, Hermione_ , he purred, grabbing her waist with both hands and pushing himself as deep as he could go.

She seemed all too ready to oblige. With a guttural expulsion, he spilled himself inside her just as she began shuddering with her own orgasm. Rocking into her a few more times, even as he began to soften, he made sure she had slowly settled back down to earth from their mutual release. He collapsed on top of her, blanketing her body with his as their panting slowly subsided. Pulling himself from her, Draco crashed onto the bed next to her and gathered her into his arms. He had an ironclad embrace that held her there, like he was afraid she might leave again.

After a moment of struggling with herself and rebuilding her scattered thoughts, Hermione turned onto her side so she could face him. He seemed contented, spent, occupied with drowsily kissing her shoulder.

Still, an apology was better late than never.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry I yelled at you this morning. That was wrong of me. I should have heard you out."

"Obviously," he replied, rolling his eyes. He brushed a piece of her hair away from her eyes.

She frowned, "I'm trying to apologize. Shouldn't you…?"

He silenced her softly with his lips, kissing her lazily now that they were both wearied. "No."

"But, I…"

"Hermione," he stopped her, pressing a long finger against her lips, "I'm already over it. You're going to have to do a hell of a lot more than pitch a fit and storm off in a childish huff to get rid of me."

A glow of contentedness hummed within her at these words. With a giggle, she snatched his hand up from the comforter and squeezed it reassuringly. "I'm glad. Even if now my whole floor at the Ministry knows it. That wasn't very discrete, by the way."

"Good."

"Good?" she repeated, as though his response hadn't made any sense.

"I meant for it to be obvious."

"People are going to find out…"

"Even better."

She shook her head, curls bouncing. Her hair had exploded from its bun earlier. "I don't understand you. I thought you wanted us to be a secret. You practically made me promise not to tell anyone – and the people who have since found out, did so by accident and were also asked to be selective about mentioning it. Remember?"

He shrugged, running his hands through his own tousled hair and setting it back to rights with ease. _I was an idiot, Hermione. You deserve better than being hidden._

"But you... and my blood status…" she began, her eyes narrowed.

 _Obviously doesn't matter to me anymore._

"Are you speaking in my head because you can't say these things out loud?" she demanded shrewdly.

Draco released a great gust of a breath through his nose, his eyes boring into hers. Gently, he cupped her chin while a classic Malfoy smirk stole across his features. _I don't express my emotions easily. I probably never will. This method of communication suits me very well._

She blinked, reading between the lines. Her heart seemed to stop. _I love you._

 _I know you do. I love you, too._

She buried her face into his bare chest, feeling the beat of his heart realign with her own. She would never know if the burst of golden joy she felt then was hers or his, but perhaps it didn't make any difference.

"I got a letter from Abruzzese, plus two invitations to his gathering this weekend," Draco informed her nonchalantly, as though their relationship hadn't just passed into an entirely new realm. "You'll go with me, of course?"

"Oh, I had wondered how the Signore was," Hermione breathed, pleased. She was still holding his hand, her thumb drawing circles onto his knuckles. "What day is it? I'm having dinner with the Weasleys on Sunday."

"Abruzzese's is Saturday. Why are you having dinner with _them_?"

"Because they're my friends," she answered simply, refusing to be goaded into another argument. She could sense his displeasure beginning to bubble up and she stretched her neck out to lightly kiss his nose, which puzzled him completely. He blinked amusingly, gaping at her like he'd never seen anything like her. While he was distracted, Hermione added, "There's no reason to be jealous."

His eyebrows furrowed again and he rubbed his nose where she'd kissed him, "I'm _not_ jealous."

"Good, because you are well aware there's nothing at all between me and Ron anymore. That's _obvious_ considering what I just told you."

"Apparently," he muttered, eyeing her a little suspiciously. His cheeks were tinged with pink, revealing how pleased he was nonetheless. "Why are you having dinner with his family then?"

"His Mum asked me to. She cares about me, especially after… my parents…" Her expression darkened, but she shook it away for the sake of the conversation. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley watched me grow up and took me in when I was displaced," she explained. Then, in his mind, she added, _You and I keep crashing together, then falling apart… can't we just accept that this isn't going away?_

A small smile playing about his lips, he responded, _I accepted that weeks ago now._

"Good. Because Harry told me to invite you next time we all get together at the Three Broomsticks."

She felt Draco stiffen beside her. "Why would he do that?"

Hermione shrugged, "To see if you're in it for the long haul or not."

"That's none of Potter's business," he growled.

Hermione refused to back down, "My friends are very important to me. If you're planning to stick around, you've got to accept their place in my life… and they have to accept _you_ in _mine_."

"I don't think Weasley and I can be in the same room for that long without something terrible happening," Draco muttered.

"Well there are enough of us there that you won't have to worry about that," she reassured him, squeezing his hand again. "There's Harry and Ginny, Toula, Siobhan, Viktor occasionally, Ron and Gabrielle… sometimes George comes with Angelina…"

"How many bloody friends do you have?" Draco demanded.

"I'll go with you to Signore Abruzzese's this Saturday, if you promise to come with me to the Three Broomsticks to meet my friends," she offered diplomatically. "I think Toula in particular wants to meet you. She shares my office and she found your ridiculous display before I even did."

"Wonderful," he muttered sarcastically. Eyeing her scrutinously, he asked what he really wanted to know, "Would you be attending Abruzzese's with me, as my girlfriend?"

"I'd like that."

Draco settled into the bed beside her, enjoying the softness of her skin where it brushed his own. His very soul seemed to be alight with beatitude.

"My girlfriend wants me to go out with her and meet up with her friends," he tested out the sentence. He sighed like a man who had been heavily put-upon for a favor. Hermione bit back a grin at the dramatics. Deciding the sentence sounded okay, Draco conceded, "Alright, I'll do it. Just don't expect me to get all buddy-buddy with Potter and Weasley."

.

.

*Sonnet 114 (William Shakespeare)


	50. Grave Matters

Author's Note: Huge thanks to Frogster, siewchee12345, Sam Wallflower, the Guest reviewer, Chester99, IGOTEAMEDWARD, Maramalolz, jperks, cmtaylor531, and annalyciareads. If anyone else has reviewed that I did not thank, I _sincerely_ apologize. The reviews are down ( _again!_ ) and these are the ones I got to see. My e-mail alerts are faulty at best. I appreciate everyone's thoughts and comments, as always.

We are coming up fast on the end of this fic... only 10 chapters left after this one! What a weird thought. I'm not even going to know what to do with myself when this is over.

.

.

The next morning marked the first of May, and the world seemed to know it. The trees were frosted in young green buds. A light rain, coupled with bright sunshine, birthed a fine rainbow into the sky.

Draco found it sadistically amusing that this beautiful day was the one in which Lucius was finally laid to rest in the Malfoy cemetery beyond the Manor. He had selected the plot directly beside Narcissa for his Father's interment. The words on the stone had been chosen by Lucius many months, perhaps years, ago. They were identical to Narcissa's:

Lucius Armand Malfoy

1954 – 2002

Memory Alone Binds Us

It was not until the earth was firmly settled on the grave and the pallbearers had departed, that Draco sat down on the dewy grass. He knew there was a distinct possibility that his robes would become wet and grass-stained, but he wasn't concerned with that. His eyes were rooted to the new gravestone that belonged to his Father before shifting to his Mother's, beside it.

Draco had long ago memorized the words of the prophecy and it was the last part that perplexed him the most: " _Thither go to speak to the stars in the wandwood grove… erelong the northern constellation shall reveal the truth… to which memory alone binds us._ " He still had no idea what it meant, but the fact that both Lucius and Narcissa had arranged for the words to be etched onto their graves for eternity, seemed significant.

"I fear you both would have a good deal to say to me if you observed how I was living these days," he told the cold gravestones conversationally. "Especially with regard to who I've become involved with."

He paused a moment. The fresh dirt atop Lucius's grave smelled reassuringly earthy, while there was an established covering of grass above Narcissa.

"I'm not sure if either of you would have been equipped to change my mind about Hermione, but I hope you would have been able to see that she makes me happier than I really have any right to be."

 _Question everything, Draco…_

He hadn't thought of his Father's words in some time, but they seemed appropriate now.

"Maybe you would have come to see that I'm right about her, after all," Draco suggested to Lucius's headstone.

He stood, feeling he'd said his piece. The wet grass had indeed stained his robes, but he couldn't be bothered to care. Casting a last look at the graves of his parents, reunited at last, Draco turned and made his way down the hill and toward the Manor without a backward glance. There was nothing left for him there, anyway.

.

.

"There!" Harry announced, stepping back from his handiwork and eyeing it critically.

Ginny appraised her husband's wandwork, impressed. "It certainly adds character. I love it."

The house in Godric's Hollow was coming along beautifully. The property had legally belonged to Harry already, inherited by him following the death of his parents. He had begun restoring it almost as soon as Ginny told him she was pregnant. The house, it seemed, had almost been _waiting_ for Harry's return and came together from the bones of what it once had been, into something that was both new and oddly familiar.

"It already feels like home," Harry agreed, appraising the thick, wooden beams he'd just incorporated into the sitting room to criss-cross across the ceiling. They weren't necessary to the structure of the house, but they certainly added a unique decorative flair.

Ginny grinned at him and pulled him into her arms, which was somewhat difficult these days due to her growing abdomen. She was six months along and rather large. Planting a wet kiss on his lips, she sighed in contentedness. "Anywhere I'm with you will feel like home."

"A shoebox?" Harry teased.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Hey, it'll still be a step up from the little old woman who lived in a shoe."

"Have you finally gone 'round the bend?" Ginny queried jokingly. " _Please_ tell me you've written out your will so I can _at least_ have a nest egg to raise this child as a single parent…"

"You've never heard of the nursery rhyme about the little old woman who lived in a shoe?"

"I wasn't raised by Muggles, Harry," she reminded him gently. "You and I didn't learn the same nursery rhymes."

"Well if I learned _one_ thing from this conversation, it was that you at least don't have any immediate plans to marry a ridiculously wealthy step-father for my child in the case of my untimely demise," Harry retorted, grinning broadly as he kissed his wife again. "Thanks, Gin."

Giggling, Ginny pulled away from him and observed the empty room they stood in. The structural necessities and outer walls of the house had been completed, but the inside was completely naked. There was still a lot of work to do. Touching her belly, she felt the child kick and a small smile spread across her lips. "I hope we'll be ready."

"I've hired a wizard who knows a thing or two about plumbing to come in and assess everything on Monday. Then I'm thinking I can put up the interior walls in the following two or three weeks," Harry assured her. "We'll be moving in before you know it."

"I meant you and me."

"It _does_ seem like only weeks ago that you were walking down that aisle, looking radiant while I gaped like a goldfish," Harry avowed. "We'll do the best we can."

Nodding absently, Ginny pondered, "What are we going to do with Kreacher when we move?"

Harry shrugged, "Take a leaf out of Hermione's book and ask _him_ what he wants to do, I suppose."

"That's another thing," Ginny continued. " _Hermione_. What are we going to do with _her_?"

"Again, let's just ask her what she wants to do. I highly doubt she'll want to move into a house with a newborn, but maybe she will want to stay at Grimmauld Place. I wouldn't have issue with that, if that's what she decided. It's safer than her renting another flat."

Casting him a disparaging glance, Ginny observed, "She's never there _in the_ _first place_ … she's always with Malfoy."

"I know. I told her she should bring him around to the Three Broomsticks next time we all go."

Ginny stared at him like he'd gone daft. "Why?"

"He's important to her and I think he cares about her," Harry answered mildly. "If he _does_ come, you should at least try to be welcoming… you don't have to _like_ him."

"She just keeps making these... strange choices," Ginny sighed, idly twisting some of her hair between her fingers. "I can't tell if she's punishing herself after my idiot brother treated her the way he did, or if she really doesn't know she's doing it. It only got worse after her parents. I just don't understand."

Sagely, Harry remarked, "She doesn't need you to understand, Gin, she just needs you to try."

"I _am_ trying," Ginny pouted. "I haven't even hexed him."

Harry chuckled, eyeing her with amusement. "You haven't had the chance."

She grinned back at him, then sobered. "Speaking of Hermione's parents… how is the case coming along? You haven't been talking about it."

The darkening of her husband's expression told Ginny all she really needed to know. "Not well. Perseus Lestrange refuses to talk at all now. His lawyer has been an annoying wasp in Robards' ear and it's driving him nuts. He's been pressuring all four of us to bring closure to the case, just to get rid of the man."

"You still can't track down Deimos?"

Harry shook his head. "Laurence and I explored the Shrieking Shack on a whim two days ago and discovered that Deimos had almost certainly been staying there, and very recently. However, he's gone now. He's _obsessed_ with Hermione. I think he wants to do something terrible to her."

"How do you know?" Ginny questioned gravely, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer.

"Well, it looked like he'd abandoned the Shrieking Shack in some haste, but he did it very sloppily," Harry divulged. "There was evidence scattered all over the place. A clipping from a Muggle newspaper article about the Granger's deaths, their obituaries, an announcement from the _Prophet_ of the centaur law Hermione wrote, a business card from the Grangers' old dentistry office, a photograph of the flat Hermione used to live in…"

" _Eugh_ , creepy," Ginny conceded with profound distaste. "I'm glad she moved out of that flat. Who knows what might have happened!"

"The four of us have started making rounds to places we think Deimos might try to go to get at her… in other words, places Hermione is likely to frequent. Laurence and I took yesterday. Ron and Stidolph have duty today."

"You're worried," Ginny observed. Privately, she thought, _I'm worried, too._

"Do you blame me? I saw what happened to Astoria Greengrass."

"You don't think…" Ginny began, then bit her lip. "He might…?"

"Maybe," Harry replied, shrugging. "But I learned a long time ago not to try telling Hermione what to do. Getting involved with Malfoy was dangerous, but it's done. She's officially a target. Now I just have to stop her from being hit."

.

.

" _Sì suave è l'inganno_ ," Hermione read slowly, her eyes squinting at the page of the book in her lap, " _al fin condotto_ …"

"It's a longer 'o' sound," Draco corrected, not looking up from the drawing resting on his own lap. "Like in 'leviosa'."

Hermione cast him a murderous glare, but he was too absorbed in adding tiny details to his sketch to notice. Festus had deposited himself by Draco's feet and made himself comfortable. Likewise, Aries had taken his customary place by Hermione, and almost seemed politely interested in her recitation. "… _condotto_ …" she stressed, " _imaginato e caro…_ _ch'altrui spoglia d'affanno… e dolce face ogni gustato amaro_."

"Better," Draco admitted. "Definitely better."

She wrinkled her nose, "But I'm still a little fuzzy on what it _means_."

"Machiavelli was always a touch vague," he agreed. "Break it down by word."

They went on like this for over an hour before they both became too frustrated with one another to continue. Hermione finally set the book down.

"You should greet Abruzzese tomorrow night in Italian," Draco recommended with a smug grin. "It'll blow his _mind_."

"I think I might be able to manage that… but not a whole lot else."

"You're doing fine," he assured her. "Better than fine. You're picking it up, no problem."

She beamed at him. "What have you drawn?"

"You're not supposed to look until it's done," he sighed resignedly, even as she craned her neck over his shoulder.

Hermione took in the detailed ink drawing of a gazebo, framed on each side by a gnarled cypress tree in early bloom. Beyond these, many gravestones were stretching backward toward the edge of a distant forest.

"It was what was on my mind," he informed her icily, trying to push her away from the parchment.

She took a step back, taking the hint that he wanted some space just then, and sat back down on the ottoman from which she'd done her Italian. _We can talk about it, if you want._

Draco shook his head, returning his attention to the parchment and scratching some more details onto it with his quill. _There is nothing to talk about._

"How can you say that? I'm sure it affected you… how could it not?"

"Honestly, Hermione," Draco scoffed. "I went and had a little chat with both of my parents – rather one-sided, if you'd believe it – and I actually feel a _lot_ better."

She observed him for a moment, as if trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth or not. Finally deciding he was, Hermione admitted, "I think I would feel better if I could visit my parents' graves. I haven't been there since they were put into the ground. There were too many eyes there, then, for me to get any real closure."

"It's meant to be private… something like that." Draco set his drawing and quill aside and peered at her as if to assess her state of mental health.

"I'd like you to come with me when I go," Hermione requested quietly. "That is, if you're willing to…"

"Let's go now."

" _Now_?" she spluttered, glancing outside. The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon.

"Trust me when I tell you that you aren't going to want to spend long there anyway," he assured her. "Also, it's better to do it before you can convince yourself not to. That's shockingly easy to do, by the way. It took me almost a year before I gathered up enough brass to visit my Mother's grave. It was worse because I waited."

Hermione swallowed heavily, "Alright. I'll get my jacket, it's still a bit chilly outside."

.

.

The Chapel Hill Cemetery was set far enough back from Oxford proper to maintain an atmosphere of tranquility. It was large, stretching down several paved paths. The oldest graves were made of worn rock that was no longer readable, while others were obscured by moss or lichen. Some were precariously tilted in the earth, others fractured. The newer headstones were much better tended, the names chiseled into the granite with careful precision. The entrance to a large mausoleum was embedded into the side of a grassy hill.

"Are _all_ of these Grangers?" Draco questioned, his eyes wide. "There must be a thousand."

"A couple hundred, perhaps, but surely not a thousand," Hermione opined vaguely, "and no, most Muggle cemeteries are mixed, though some families have their own plots within the larger."

Draco felt the urge to question this practice, but the remark died on his tongue when he took in the ashen pallor of her face. The sun was quickly descending into a breathtaking sunset that colored the distant clouds a brilliant orange.

Glancing down at her hand, he recalled her tendency to take his and hold onto it. He did that now, hoping his timing was appropriate, and cast her a lopsided half-smile. "Come on," he urged.

She teetered on the balls of her feet before expelling a deep breath and lurching forward down the paved path. Her grip on his hand was painful. Draco felt a sudden chill; he wasn't sure if it was due to the impending night closing in, or the nature of their errand, but he shuddered. When he noticed she did the same, he decided it must actually be cold.

"Here," she announced, coming to a stop in front of two very new-looking headstones.

They were nearly identical, the first reading:

Dr. David Isaac Granger

1952 – 2002

Beloved Son, Husband, Father

The second belonged to his wife:

Dr. Katherine Lydia Granger

1954 – 2002

Beloved Daughter, Wife, Mother

Hermione stared at the headstones blankly. Her hand was clenched around Draco's so hard that he winced from the pressure, though he said nothing. He understood all too well the feeling of despair that naturally came along with this sort of thing. Still, he was convinced it was a necessary visit and that she would feel better once it was over. She would be sad, of course, but ultimately stronger for it.

It _was_ sad, Draco reflected, shivering once more from the chill in the air. He hadn't even known the Grangers well, but for the one evening the four of them had gone to the theatre. He still felt a very real sense of dismal reality as he stood there.

Hermione shivered again and Draco observed she was crying silently. He put an arm around her shoulders and felt her head loll to the side to rest on his shoulder.

They stood there for only six or seven minutes, the chill in the air growing stronger and more biting as the sun sank lower in the sky. Dusk was upon them and Draco glanced around, ready to suggest that they head back before it became utterly dark.

He didn't realize something was wrong until the grass by their feet began to frost over before his eyes. With a deep sense of dread, Draco spun around quickly at the sound like a rattling death gasp being drawn through dying lungs.

Hermione turned around slowly in response Draco's sudden movement, tears still staining her cheeks. Her mind hazily registered that his wand was drawn, that he was pale as death...

"Protego," he intoned, casting a bluish shield around them. He hoped it would work; he'd never been trained to resist this sort of foe before. There had never been a need.

 _Dementors_ , he confirmed.

Hermione saw them too, but was sunk so deeply into her despair, she was positive she wouldn't be able to produce a Patronus. Draco's Protego likely wouldn't even stop them.

Eyes widening, she whimpered, _There are so many…_


	51. The Otter

Author's Note: Hooray! Reviews are working again. Some thanks are in order: cmtaylor531, fuzzy6, Maramalolz, jperks, Musicangel913, IGOTEAMEDWARD, siewchee12345, I was BOTWP, Sam Wallflower, skellyshook, 4fanci, Chester99, Christineoftheopera, nikawritesx, and somekindofwildgirl. I'm so amazed how this story has kind of exploded. When I started, I was worried no one would read it _at all_. I love hearing all your thoughts!

Second order of business, I got a PM asking why on earth Draco has so many dogs in this fic, as it's hard to keep track of them. Sorry. I love dogs. In case this is not an isolated issue, here is a list in order from oldest to youngest, for your reading ease: Aster (greyhound), Caliber (English Setter), Annie (Blue Heeler), Aries (greyhound), Festus (Irish Wolfhound), Deacon (Doberman), Legend (Newfoundland). The first two originally belonged to Lucius, while Annie was Narcissa's. The other four are all Draco's (Aries was Draco's first dog and a gift from Lucius... notice they are the same breed, hmm). It's really quite a pack! As for _why_ the Malfoys have so many dogs, I felt their views on their own purebloodedness surely extended into other quarters of their lives, including the types of pets they kept. If they owned horses, I'm sure they'd all be Arabians or Thoroughbreds or the like.

Anyway, here's a nice, long chapter for you...

.

.

 _Maybe they haven't noticed us, yet…_

 _They definitely have_ , Draco insisted. _Can you Apparate?_

 _I don't… even think… I can move…_

 _Fight this, Hermione!_

She blinked stupidly, her eyes caught by the cold headstones belonging to her parents. _Mightn't it… just be better if…?_

 _For Merlin's sake, please don't even suggest that. Get your wand, do something._

The fresh misery of her recent tragedy had rendered Hermione a veritable feast for the Dementors, but for Draco, she really did try. She drew her wand, and that action alone seemed to click something into place within her mind. Taking in a deep breath, she rummaged for a happy thought and cast, "Expecto Patronum."

A wisp of silvery fog came from her wand, but dissipated almost immediately.

 _See?_

 _Try again,_ Draco pleaded. _I never learned how to fight these._

"Expecto Patronum," she tried again.

There was, perhaps, slightly more fog this time around, but it disappeared even more quickly than the last.

 _I've always been rubbish at this one when it counted,_ she admitted sadly.

There were at least ten or eleven Dementors. They swirled ominously around the outside of Draco's Shield Charm, as if analyzing it. Finally, one glided toward the bluish haze of protection, reached out a skeletal hand, and brushed it away as if it had been a cobweb.

"Expecto Patronum!"

"Why isn't it working?"

"I can't think of anything cheerful!" she screamed, tears flowing freely down her face. "You have to be able to think of a happy memory, or the guardian won't come!"

The Dementors swooped down in a frenzy, passing over the top of them and sucking at their life forces. Draco had only once felt so desperate in his life: back in sixth year when he'd been ordered to do the unthinkable in order to save his family. This time, he was helpless. The foes were sucking all their happiness and hopefulness dry, while Hermione groaned in actual agony.

 _They are focusing on her_ , he realized. His stomach flip-flopped and he thought he was going to be sick. _This isn't an accident._

"Reducto!" he exclaimed, pointing his wand at the Dementors and attempting to blast them away. "Confringo! Expulso! Incarcerous! Reducto… reducto… reducto!"

This last one seemed to be the most effective, as it at least gusted the Dementors backward a couple of feet, though it didn't seem to cause them any lasting damage. Draco did notice, however, that it seemed to make them angrier.

"Expecto Patronum!" he attempted, mimicking Hermione's wand movements.

Nothing happened.

 _You have to think… of something happy_ , Hermione explained weakly. She was reduced into a puddle on the ground, eyes glassy.

"Reducto!" Draco began to panic. _I'll think, you cast._

She nodded once to show she understood, even as the Dementors continued their attack.

Her mind was so familiar to him now, Draco was able to align his own to it in the time it took to snap his fingers. What met him there was hurt, despair… the desire to simply give up. None of this was Hermione at all and the almost total loss of her personality made him shudder. He had to search deep within himself to pull something happy from his thoughts. He had been more seriously affected by the sense of hopelessness permeated by the Dementors than he originally thought...

It began as a spark, and Draco was imagining holding Hermione into him, her small sigh of contentedness, the softness of her skin against his. The memory was warm and bright in his mind as memory-Hermione reached up to run her fingers through his hair. His eyes closed lazily to enjoy the feel of her hands. He kissed her deeply…

"Expecto Patronum," she attempted feebly.

This time, something happened. The Dementors hesitated as a silvery-something morphed itself into a shapeless mass and burst toward them, pushing them back several feet and holding them there.

 _Keep going_ , Hermione encouraged as the shapeless guardian disappeared. The Dementors began to close back in quickly, eager to finish the job now that they'd discovered their prey had claws.

At that moment, a misty ghost of a small dog bounded into the fray and sent the cloaked nightmares scattering. They recognized a true Patronus when they saw one. The Jack Russell Terrier went straight for Hermione and spoke to her in Ron's voice, "Hold on just a little longer, Hermione… we're coming."

The Patronus disappeared. The Dementors began to swarm Hermione and Draco like sharks after sensing blood.

"Reducto!" Draco kept trying, "Reducto!"

But from within the contents of Hermione's mind, mountains began to shift and memories flowed like rivers, bringing new life. She stood, her face contorted into a terrifying kind of concentration. Within her mind, Draco saw flashes of memories: a young Hermione telling her parents an amusing story, Hermione finding out she was a witch, Hermione laughing with Harry and Ron in the Three Broomsticks, Hermione finding out that Voldemort had been wrong and Harry was still alive, Hermione telling Draco she loved him, Hermione hearing that he loved her back…

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

She seemed to be radiating pure magic, her hair lifting slightly from her shoulders like a breeze had given it a life of it's own. A fully formed, silvery animal erupted from the tip of her wand and twisted through the air, passing at the Dementors as if they weren't at the size advantage. It bit at their cloaks, headbutting them mercilessly. Everywhere the animal touched them, the fiends hissed with displeasure.

It was an otter, Draco realized with awe.

Most of the Dementors fled right away, while two remained behind, attempting to fight against the ghost-like guardian. As the otter dueled viciously with one of the stragglers, the other swept toward Hermione, knocking her back like a gust of wind.

"Incendio!" Draco cast, flames exploding from the tip of his wand.

The Dementor angling toward Hermione was leaning in as if it meant to Kiss her. The otter, sensing this danger, raced toward its caster and swam directly into Draco's fire spell. The resulting flames were of an otherworldly chrome-like color. They licked at the Dementor's cloak, engulfing its entire being, and the thing made a noise like a horrifying mixture of nails being run down a chalkboard and a young mandrake's cry.

It burst into thousands of pieces, bits of fabric that made up its cloak floating to the earth where it had last stood.

The Dementors were gone, all having fled. The otter returned to Hermione, meandering through the air like water currents. She reached out a shaking hand to it, gazing at her guardian lovingly, and whispered, "Thank you."

The otter chattered at her playfully, then disappeared the moment it made contact with her skin.

"We did it," she whispered to Draco.

He ran to embrace her and she fainted away into his arms like a ragdoll.

"Thank Merlin!" a new voice exulted.

Draco turned, weighted down with Hermione's limp form. A middle-aged woman wearing Auror's robes was jogging toward them. She came to a stop by Draco and eyed Hermione nervously.

"I'll have to take her vitals," she told him officiously.

Suddenly realizing how spent he was, Draco only nodded, gently laying Hermione on the ground. He pulled his coat off to put beneath her head, while the Auror took her pulse and did a quick examination.

"She'll be alright," the woman assured him. "I'm not shocked she's out. That was _some_ Patronus! Especially against so many…"

Draco said nothing. He took Hermione's hands and tried to warm them between his own, but his limbs felt heavy and the effort was staggering.

"You're Draco Malfoy," the Auror stated, eyeing him.

"Yes."

"Nicola Stidolph. I'm one of the Aurors that have been on the Grangers' case. We had a feeling an attack like this was coming. As soon as I saw the Dementors, I called my partner."

"We saw another Patronus," Draco realized, connecting the dots, "a Jack Russell."

"That's Weasley's. He Apparated here as soon as he got my message, but happened to arrive directly beside the elusive Mr. Deimos Lestrange. He's attempting to apprehend the boy now. I didn't even have time to explain to him that I can't cast a Patronus." Stidolph shook her head, "I'll never get used to these hotheaded young Aurors."

Draco gazed back at Hermione, who was beginning to stir.

"She'll be up in a moment. Her spell… and yours… I've never seen anything like it."

"Did you say you may have found Lestrange?"

"Weasley took off crashing through the woods after him. Good chance young Lestrange had something to do with the Dementor attack."

"Draco? Are we safe?" Hermione croaked out, her eyes cracking open.

"Thanks to you, we are."

The look of pure, loving trust shining in her eyes as she smiled at him and squeezed his hand, made him need to look away. He pretended to be busy with helping her sit up, but truthfully he wasn't sure how to react to such blatant emotion, especially when it was directed at him.

They were all abruptly distracted by the sound of two wizards crashing through the forest toward them.

"Lumos," Stidolph cast, as it was now rather dark. Her wandlight shone onto the tall, scrappy form of Ron, his face and robes somewhat cut up from running through the wood at night. Alongside him, wrapped in the sort of heavy chains that characterized an Incarcerous curse, was…

"Lestrange," Draco growled threateningly, standing and pulling out his wand.

"Put that away, Malfoy," Ron advised grimly. "This is nothing to do with you."

To everyone's disconcert, Deimos began to laugh loudly. "It's _everything_ to do with him, you blood traitor _fool_."

"You've looked better, Lestrange," Draco observed icily, taking in the patchy shadow of a teenager's first beard and the hallowed pallor of the boy's skin. He looked very much like a person who'd been on the run and not eating well for too long. "Murdering my girlfriend's parents, going on the run, and making deals with Dementors to suck out her soul doesn't agree with you, apparently."

Ron did a double-take in surprise at Draco's words, almost certainly because Draco had referred to Hermione as his girlfriend. His ears turned red first, then spread onto his cheeks and he shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"You're a fucking blood traitor, Malfoy." Lestrange spat at Draco's feet, "My father saw it happening before you even _touched_ that Mudblood. I was just finishing his noble work for him."

"Do you call murder noble?" Stidolph demanded. She'd been silently observing the youth, up until that point.

"It's noble when it's the likes of _her_." Deimos jerked his head in Hermione's direction.

Draco could feel her distress in his mind and in his bones, but Hermione was so fatigued, she didn't even bother to defend herself against Deimos's words.

The boy's eyes were dark as coal, glinting eerily in the moonlight. "I bribed those Dementors to Kiss her; it was all too easy. They're starved in Azkaban, you know."

Ron cuffed the boy on the back of the head and snarled, "Like they would have been able to subdue _Hermione_."

Deimos turned to Ron now and taunted, "But I had it _all_ planned out: the hypocrite blood traitor could be forced to watch while I violated his soulless Mudblood in every hole of her disgusting anatomy. An appropriate last memory for him, don't you think?"

Hermione became very still and quiet.

"Over my dead body," Draco grit out, his wand hand itching.

"That's the idea," Deimos sneered, sensing how difficult it was for Draco to restrain himself. "Though honestly, you could have considered it a favor by me. Better to die than to sully your entire bloodline by fucking some muddy whore…"

Draco eyed the boy coldly, then raised his wand, "Sectumsempra."

" _Draco_!" Hermione gasped.

Deimos collapsed to the ground with a shout, blood spurting from his face and chest like he'd been slashed with an invisible sword. He was struggling against the chains of Ron's Incarcerous, trying unsuccessfully to stem his own bleeding.

"Merlin's bloody bollocks," Ron cursed, "what did you _do_ to him?"

"He needs to be taken to St. Mungo's," Stidolph said hurriedly. "Miss Granger, you should also come - for evaluation after an incident like this. I'm shocked you're conscious."

"I do _not_ want to go to St. Mungo's," Hermione protested, tilting her chin up stubbornly. Her eyes, however, did not leave the convulsing form of her would-be rapist and murderer.

Draco knew that look; he also knew she wouldn't be going, just as she said.

Ron sighed deeply. Draco glanced to him and realized that Weasley also recognized that expression. Turning to Stidolph, he said, "Can you take him? He needs to be seen right away. I'll attend to these two."

"I'll expect you along in a little while," Stidolph consented. She Disapparated along with the bloodied prisoner to the hospital.

Without a neutral party to restrain him, Ron wheeled around to face Draco, his blue eyes bulging. "What is _wrong_ with you, bringing Hermione here?"

"I am an _adult_ , Ronald," Hermione insisted, making to stand up again. "Able to make my own decisions, thank you very much. You can leave Draco out of this."

"He used a dark curse on a prisoner!"

Draco's blood still boiled just thinking about Lestrange's planned course of action toward Hermione. "You heard what he intended toward her, Weasley. Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing for someone you… cared about."

Ron raised his eyebrows at Draco's near-slip and cast Hermione a deeply withering look.

Tentatively, Draco heard Hermione's small voice in his mind, _How can you use that curse on anyone when you've experienced how awful it is, yourself? Why not let the law handle it?_

 _Because it's painful and I want him to suffer._

 _He could die…_

 _That would suit me very well._

He could sense her displeasure at his sentiments, but Draco did not regret his actions. He realized that this was, perhaps, one issue on which they would never agree.

Ron frowned at how silent his companions had become. "Alright, 'Mione. Can I at least bring you to Grimmauld Place to get some rest, since you refused St. Mungo's? I really think you need it."

Hermione looked up at Draco warily and asked, _What are you going to do?_

 _For once, I am going to agree with Weasley. You need rest._

"Fine," she told Ron waspishly.

Grudgingly, Ron asked Draco, "Where are you headed if I bring her to Harry's?"

"Home," Draco shrugged. "I could use some sleep, too."

"Well, no use in lingering here," Ron pointed out nastily.

His anger piqued, Draco chose to ignore the redhead's insolent tone of voice for Hermione's sake. Instead, he turned to her and recommended, "Get some rest. Dreamless Sleep, if you're able to."

"I should be like new for Abruzzese's tomorrow. Besides, Ginny will love an opportunity to take me dress shopping late on a Saturday morning."

He tilted his head meaningfully, _I'm glad you're safe._

She smiled. _I love you, too._

Turning to Ron, Draco jutted his chin out, narrowed his eyes and spoke in a clipped voice. "Nice work, Weasley, catching that bastard."

Ron blinked a few times, tried to find the insult in Draco's words, but came up empty-handed. While the redhead was momentarily distracted, Draco used the opportunity to kiss Hermione in a manner he wouldn't dared have done in front of his mother - or anyone else's mother, for that matter. The look on Ron's face was borderline apoplectic when they parted; Hermione grinned sheepishly up at her friend while Draco readied to Disapparate.

 _You are incorrigible and a scoundrel_ , she reprimanded him lovingly.

 _Your incorrigible scoundrel_ , he reminded her smugly.

.

.

Bright moonlight streamed in through the Manor's tall windows, casting windowpane-shaped figures onto the floors. Draco passed through these indiscriminately as he trekked along the familiar pattern of corridors toward the library. Shadows gathered into dark corners like lurking demons.

His body was exhausted, but his mind was buzzing with new information and vivacious curiosity.

Draco triggered the bookshelf to slide aside, trodding into the hidden antechamber beyond. For the first time, with no Festus to keep him company, he was alone. Stepping lightly down the spiral stair, he peered into the concealed room and strode purposefully to the pedestal in the center.

The misty figure of the clairvoyant rose from the orb, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as his body shook with the power of his words: " _Verily it shall pass… the line of Malfoy shall jealously guard in secret… for ten and five generations… a divination ensuring their own continuation and amaranthine eminence… by virtue of one of their own."_

"Straight forward," Draco muttered to himself, pressing the orb back onto its cushion to silence it for a moment while he reflected. "We guard the secret for fifteen generations because the prophecy tells us it will pay off in the end."

He reached for the orb again and the soothsayer continued as though he hadn't been interrupted: " _Heretofore the dragon sleeps… an upheaval of what once was sacred…"_

"The dragon sleeps…" Draco murmured, silencing the man again. Shaking his head, he knew that part still didn't make any sense to him.

The second part could easily be the dissolving of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; he'd decided that months ago.

"… _A reckoning of the connection betwixt two souls… victims of hate and prejudice."_

This was a part of the prophecy that was no longer a mystery. Draco certainly didn't relish being a victim, but he liked the idea of Hermione being one even less. Still, it _fit_ – and there was no denying their connection. It was stronger than ever, now they'd consummated it. Repeatedly.

" _The otter protects that which is ancient in nature… the liminality of star-crossed souls."_

If the results of Theo's experiment, along with Hermione's research, were correct… there were traces of stardust in his blood, and Hermione's. The _same_ star, in fact – and this was responsible for their ability to converse with one another without actually speaking aloud. Hermione had agreed with him months ago that the soul was ancient in nature. If their unorthodox method of communication wasn't the very _essence_ of liminality, Draco wasn't sure what was.

…And now the otter had protected them both from having that connection severed.

Draco had never known someone who could expel Dementors before, except Harry Potter. Now, it seemed the entire Golden Trinity was able to do it. Potter had done it back in third year – _third year_ , while many adult wizards couldn't do it! – and tonight he'd seen both Weasley's and Hermione's guardians.

None of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters had been able to produce a Patronus, that Draco knew of. In fact, he recalled a conversation Lucius once had with Yaxley about the Patronus Charm: it could only be cast by those who fought for the Light. It was highly advanced magic, though oftentimes a capable witch or wizard could cast one when there was no immediate threat of Dementors. The guardian could be used to send messages the way Weasley's Jack Russell had. Producing the same results when Dementors were actually _present_ , was another matter entirely.

Draco wondered what it said about Hermione that her Patronus was an otter…

It had been beautiful magic, he thought, especially when it had combined with his fire spell into silver flames, destroying the Dementor more completely than he knew they could be destroyed…

Draco reached out for Hermione, feeling for her in the void, but she seemed to be asleep. He brushed against her consciousness, but it barely responded to him at all, which made him think someone had dosed her a draft of Dreamless Sleep.

 _Good, she needs it_ , he thought, turning back to the little orb in front of him.

" _Thither go to speak to the stars in the wandwood grove… erelong the northern constellation shall reveal the truth… to which memory alone binds us."_

The end of the riddle, and the most worrisome.

Everything had come to pass, but for the awakening of the dragon… and this last part. How was he to speak to stars? Where was this wandwood grove? Why had Lucius and Narcissa elected to carve these last four words onto their gravestones?

Why, why, _why_?

Draco sat on the bottom-most step of the staircase that led into the chamber and closed his eyes. He felt exhausted, both in body and mind.

It seemed he'd only shut his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again and headed back up the stairs, dawn had just broken. A cramp in his neck and a deep chill in his backside confirmed the truth of this. He Floo'd back to Woodhaven, where the comfort of his bed welcomed him home, despite the empty place beside him in it.


	52. The Beauty in the Darkness

Author's Note: Thank you for your thoughts, lovely reviewers... Frogster, cmtaylor531, I was BOTWP, Sam Wallflower, 4fanci, weekaa1313, jperks, siewchee12345, and Chester99.

I'm starting to doubt I can finish this by the end of the month. Not because I don't think I can do a chapter a day, but because I'm no longer positive I can fully tie off all the loose ends in only 8 more chapters. We will see.

.

.

Once they'd arrived at Grimmauld Place and Ginny had disappeared upstairs with Hermione to give her a large dose of Dreamless Sleep potion, Ron collapsed into the nearest kitchen chair.

"Firewhiskey?" Harry suggested, already summoning the bottle and a glass from the cupboard.

"Thanks, mate."

"So, what happened?"

Ron launched into the story, "You know Stidolph and I were making our rounds tonight. Well, I was in Hogsmeade when Stidolph gives me the signal that she's found something. Problem was, I couldn't remember _where_ she was. Luckily, I got it right on my third try and Apparated to the cemetery where Hermione's parents are."

Harry frowned, "Why was she there?"

Ron shrugged. "Visiting, I guess. She was with Malfoy."

Nodding, Harry recalled the Christmas Eve that Hermione had accompanied him to visit the Potters' gravestones at Godric's Hollow. "Makes sense. It's easier to do when you have someone with you."

Ron cast Harry a forlorn look, which Harry seemed not to notice. "Anyway, I happened to Apparate almost on top of Deimos Lestrange."

"You _found_ him?"

"Caught him, too."

"Ron, that's amazing!"

"Always so surprised." A grin briefly tugged at the corners of Ron's mouth as he poured himself a second shot of firewhiskey. "Lestrange had bribed Dementors with the promise of Hermione's soul. They attacked her and Malfoy, but Hermione managed to fend them off. I captured Lestrange, and he confessed to sending the Dementors to Kiss Hermione, and also that he…"

Ron had trailed off, his hand clenched into a tightened fist on the table.

"What?" Harry wanted to know.

"He _confessed_ … that he planned to…" Ron grit his teeth and spit it out, "rape Hermione in front of Malfoy after she'd been Kissed. As a _favor_ to him, before he killed him."

Harry put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "You can drink as much of that as you like, you know. That _may_ have been Lestrange's plan, but he forgot to factor Hermione into that equation. Hermione is no Astoria Greengrass; she's clever and she's a warrior."

"Good thing, too," Ron muttered angrily.

"She'll be alright once she's slept it off."

"Malfoy referred to Hermione as his girlfriend," Ron stated next.

Harry sat back in his seat and observed Ron, who seemed to fighting some kind of internal battle. "Does that bother you?"

"Well, it's _Malfoy_ , isn't it?"

"Ron…" Harry shut his green eyes for a moment, as if in prayer. " _Please_ don't tell me you still have feelings for Hermione."

Ron looked up, scandalized, "What? No, I have Gabby…"

Harry raised an eyebrow and waited.

"I mean, maybe, I don't know. I'm so confused..."

" _Don't_ finish that sentence. You cocked it up completely with Hermione," Ginny admonished calmly, suddenly appearing in the kitchen doorway.

Ron turned in his seat to look his sister in the eye and grew red, "What kind of sister listens in on a conversation like this?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Seriously, it's like you don't even _know_ me."

"I'm not saying I want Hermione back," Ron protested. "We weren't really that good together and I don't think it would be any different now. She made me feel… well, kind of stupid, to be honest. I didn't like that very much. But why did she have to take up with _Malfoy_ , of all people?"

"That's Hermione's business," Harry shrugged.

"I don't understand it either," Ginny admitted, walking over to sit by Harry, "but I have to trust she knows what she's doing. I'm trying, anyway. You're only jealous right now, Ron. It's normal. It will pass."

" _Jealous!_ " Ron spluttered.

"If it makes you feel any better," Harry conceded, "I think Malfoy was jealous of _you_ for dating Hermione first. I had a conversation with her and she sure made it seem that way."

Ron didn't seem to know what to do with that information. "I just... don't understand... he was always such a shite to us in school, especially Hermione. He _can't_ have changed _that_ much…"

"You have to let it go, Ron," Ginny suggested, eyeing the firewhiskey bottle wistfully.

The three were silent for a moment, until Harry said, "What I don't understand, is why both Perseus _and_ his son confessed to their crimes with so little probing. It would have been easy for Deimos to feign innocence, especially as a minor."

"Malfoy hexed him when he admitted he wanted to pull another Astoria Greengrass on Hermione. Stidolph had to take him to St. Mungo's."

Ginny gasped, "Lestrange wouldn't _dare_ do that to Hermione! I hope Malfoy got him with something good."

Harry cast a strange look at his wife's unexpected bloodlust, momentarily taken aback by her.

"It was a Sectumsempra," Ron confirmed. "Bloke started bleeding everywhere."

The color drained from Harry's face, "You're sure? You're sure that _Malfoy_ used a _Sectumsempra_?"

Ron nodded, "Why?"

"Because… that was the spell I almost accidentally killed him with, back in sixth year. I got it from the Half-Blood Prince's textbook, remember? I'm pretty sure only Snape knew the counter-spell to that one. You _definitely_ got a confession from Lestrange? And Stidolph heard it, too?"

Ron nodded, his eyes wide, "He could die, couldn't he?"

"If he hasn't already bled out..."

"Blimey, I almost forgot, I've got to meet Stidolph at St. Mungo's," Ron groaned, standing and wishing for a third bit of firewhiskey.

"I'll come with you," Harry volunteered. "I want to talk to Stidolph, too."

.

.

When Hermione arrived at Terrazza Mosaico to meet Draco before Abruzzese's party, she felt inexplicably nervous. She had gone through great pains with her hair, now tamed and half pulled-back, and Ginny had delighted in helping her find a dress for the occasion. It was midnight blue, strapless, and extended just past her knees. The breast was runched, the waist accentuated with a silky ribbon. Hermione probably wouldn't have picked it out for herself, but Ginny had _insisted_ it was perfect for her figure.

"You look beautiful," Draco told her honestly, secretly feeling grateful she hadn't dressed as prudishly as she did to go to work.

"And you're particularly handsome tonight," she responded with a small smile, pushing up on the balls of her feet to kiss his cheek. His waistcoat alone had probably cost the same as Hermione's entire outfit, embroidered with gold thread. Otherwise, the suit was black.

They stood by the Floo entrance where Hermione had arrived, all those months ago, to first set foot into Draco's Italian home. The walls were still decorated ostentatiously with scenes of peacocks and olive trees, the grandiose mirror inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It seemed odd that something could be so consistently the same, when so many things had happened between September and May.

"Remind me that we're going to be more than fashionably late if we linger here."

She raised an eyebrow speculatively, "Why?"

"Because if you don't, you're going to find yourself spread out on the nearest available surface, regardless if any of the help happen to wander in. Your dress will be wrinkled, and what will the servants think?"

She sobered immediately.

 _What is it?_

Hermione hesitated before responding, _I can't stop thinking about… about what Deimos Lestrange wanted to do to me. Have the Dementors steal away my soul… and then…_

"Don't think about that," Draco growled. "I'd have killed him before I let that happen." _You are so much more than he realizes._

She bit her lip, _Thank you._

 _What else is bothering you?_

"It's just… I feel like there is such darkness inside of me," she whispered, her brown eyes wide and fearful at this admission. "After everything that's happened, how can anything ever be beautiful, or right, again?"

Draco kissed her cheek and pulled her softly into an embrace. Hermione wanted to burst into tears, but also felt that perhaps she'd been doing so much of that lately, that the well was dry. Draco seemed to be thinking hard, his fingers stroking her hair absently as she stared silently at the floor.

"Come on," he pulled at her hand.

"Where are we going?"

"It'll only be a moment..."

She allowed herself to be pulled toward the verandah, where the French doors opened into the night sky over a spectacular view of the Mediterranean. "Look up, Hermione."

Her chin lifted and she looked him in the eyes.

"Not at me. Look _up_." He gestured to the sky above them; it was a dark night, but dotted with stars. "The sky is limitless and black, like an unending void that could swallow you up like you never existed," he explained, gesturing with his clenched fist as if to imitate ruthlessness. Then he laced his fingers through hers, "Look closer."

Her throat tightened as she gazed into the night. At first she saw only the aforementioned void of nothingness; but when she shifted the lens she was thinking with and observed the stars instead of the black blanket behind them, the night became bright and heavenly.

"We are also undeniably a piece of this world." Hoping she understood what he was trying to say, he posited, "Do you see the beauty in the darkness?"

She licked her lips and whispered, "Yes."

Her eyes lowered to his face again, and she realized that if Draco were ever to leave, she would be lost. She needed him – it was not a physical need, but something much more visceral and fundamental.

He had darkness in him too, and he was magnificent.

"Yes," she repeated softly, trailing her finger along his cheekbone and down the side of his neck. He shuddered at her touch. "I see it."

.

.

They were far more than fashionably late to Abruzzese's. The dinner hors d'oeuvres were gone and the dessert wines were making their way around the room. The Signore spotted their arrival with boundless joy, pattering over to them to press their hands in his, in greeting.

"So glad you could come!" he cried in obvious pleasure. He greeted Hermione particularly warmly, "How is your law being received in England?"

"It was… altered, by the court system," Hermione answered. "Every elf born after the first of June, will be born freely. The elves currently enslaved, will have to petition for their freedom."

"But this is still good news," the Signore chirped, his eyes watching gleefully as Hermione linked her arm through Draco's. "You English have always been slow to realize when something is right. The courts will come around. Rather like yourselves, I see."

Hermione colored at the old man's words, but looked pleased nonetheless.

"I saw how you danced together the last time you both were in attendance to my party," he continued knowingly. "In art, emotion is revealed. One cannot hide their feelings during a dance."

"You're quite right, Signore," Draco agreed, amused.

"I can see it now," the man waxed on, gesturing wildly with his wrinkled, olive-colored hands. "You will be married, with a large family. This I can confidently predict! Now, I will no longer pester you with my presence. Come! Drink! Be merry!"

Hermione's face was positively beet-colored at the Signore's insinuation; Draco was greatly entertained.

 _Good thing we got some practice in, before we came here, in making that large family we're going to have._

 _Draco Malfoy, you…_

 _Are devilishly good-looking? And you want to shag me again, in any available coat closet?_ he suggested, a grin twisting onto his face. _If you insist._

She nudged him playfully in the arm, _You are the randiest person I have ever met._

 _Of all the superlatives you could have given me, I suppose that isn't the worst. Are you going to let me show you off to all the important people, since we aren't going to find an empty cupboard?_

 _No matter what we do, we should probably stop having an unspoken conversation, since it just looks like we're staring at one another…_

"You forgot to greet the Signore in Italian," Draco sighed dramatically. "All that effort I put in to teaching you…"

"I'll say good night to him that way," she promised, allowing him to lead her through the foyer and around the room.

At about a month shy from his twenty-second birthday, Draco was an expert navigator of social situations amongst the worldly elite. He'd been born into privilege and groomed for such things since he was old enough to talk. Hermione had often heard Lucius Malfoy described as 'slippery', and she couldn't help but think that in this way, Son was much like Father. Draco had a way of sliding into the correct conversations, then slithering away unnoticed when those conversations could no longer be turned to suit him.

She was a bit hazy on how many people she met that evening. Draco surreptitiously made sure her wine glass was always full, that she was kept away from certain attendees, that she always appeared to the advantage. Hermione noticed it all, and thought perhaps she'd underestimated his social finesse all this time.

If people found her presence by his side odd, they didn't openly show it. Still, Hermione grew impatient with talking to investors, politicians, inventors, and members of the wealthy upper class.

 _Are you ever going to ask me to dance?_ she queried plaintively.

He cast her a apologetic look, _Let me disentangle us from this man._

She made a face, _He's got more tentacles than a snargaluff._

Draco bit back his laughter with some difficulty, _I never thought I'd see the day the Prime Minister of Luxembourg was compared to a snargaluff._ His grey eyes shone with amusement, and he managed to free them from the oily politician in record time.

The hall was decorated much as it had been at the last gathering, with the faint, twinkling lights from the garden outside casting a glow onto the enormous windows of the far wall. Some of these windows were constructed of fractals of Venetian glass in various colors.

Draco smoothly led Hermione to the dance floor and settled into a place in the enormous hall that was far enough out of the center of attention, but not too close to the edge, either. They turned together in a splash of blue light from one of the windows.

That was when Hermione first became aware of the whispers.

"… a war heroine… literally fought You-Know-Who with Harry Potter…"

"Did you see her scar? It says 'Mudblood' carved right into her arm…"

"A Malfoy dating a Muggle-born…?"

"…Lucius Malfoy rolling in his grave…"

"…heard his entire family openly supported the Dark One's rise to power, back in England…"

Hermione sniffed dryly, and supposed she should have anticipated that people wouldn't understand their relationship. Draco was holding her tightly, like a human shield against the murmurs.

Just before midnight, the orchestra began to play a slow waltz in a minor key. Hermione leaned into him, resting her head against Draco's chest. He led confidently, enjoying the feel of her. He had, of course, heard the whispers too, but had learned long ago not to pay them any mind. There were certain things that came along with being a Malfoy. One of the foremost of these, was that people were going to gossip and not all of it was going to be good.

Hermione, it seemed, was having a harder time ignoring them.

 _Let's get out of here after this dance,_ he suggested.

She looked up and flashed him a grateful half-smile. _That would be nice._

The last few notes of the song strained through the air and Draco pulled her in as close as he could, resting his forehead against hers. _Besides, I want to see what that dress looks like in a heap on the floor._


	53. Pick Your Battles

Author's Note: Sorry it's been a couple days! My cat decided to chew through my laptop cord. Eighty dollars later, here I am again. Thank you very much to those who reviewed: Frogster, jperks, fuzzy6, Sam Wallflower, I was BOTWP, siewchee12345, cmtaylor531, nikawritesx, IGOTEAMEDWARD.

.

.

"Now I know you'll both want to ask him a lot of questions, but he's still extremely weak," Stidolph warned, "and try to remember he's only a kid."

"Voldemort was a kid once, too," Ron muttered under his breath.

Eyeing his friend distastefully, Harry protested, "I highly doubt Deimos Lestrange is the next Voldemort, Ron."

"Let's not even _joke_ about that," Stidolph insisted, visibly shuddering. "This way."

They stepped off the hospital's stairwell and past a sign that read 'Fourth Floor – Spell Damage', into the ward. Because he was a prisoner as well as a patient, Deimos was being kept in a separate room for his treatment and was under constant supervision.

"They only _just_ managed to save his life," she informed them, leading the way and stopping in front of a plain, white door. "I should also warn you that thusfar, he's not said a word to anyone."

"Do you think I could go in alone?" Harry requested. He looked apologetically at Ron and explained, "You were the one to catch him. He'll probably be less likely to talk to you."

Ron shrugged and hung back with his partner as Harry entered and shut the door behind him.

An Azkaban guard was inside with the teenager, who was bed-ridden. At a word from Harry, the guard took his momentary leave and left the two of them alone. Deimos was extremely pale and anemic, despite the restorative effects of blood-replenishing potions. Most of the boy's hair had been shorn away to help clean up his head. There seemed to be flea bites all over his scalp and neck; wherever he'd been staying when he was on the run, had apparently been none too clean.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm not sure if you know me already, but my name is Harry Potter."

Deimos only blinked haughtily.

Undaunted, Harry continued, "I was hoping you would be able to tell me some more about the murders you and your father been connected with. The first was Narcissa Malfoy, the second was Astoria Greengrass. The third and fourth were David and Katherine Granger. Then there is the question of the attempted murder of Hermione Granger."

Still silence.

Harry made himself comfortable in the singular chair in the room. It seemed to be the only furniture besides the bed Deimos lay in and a nightstand with a lamp. "Did you bribe the Dementors to steal Hermione's soul?"

The teenager's lip curled slightly, but he still said nothing.

In times like these, Harry recalled all too clearly how frustratingly calm Albus Dumbledore had always been whenever someone was riled up or emotional. The former Headmaster would simply sit back in his tall chair, unconcernedly unsticking two lemon drops from one another, and allow his guest to say their piece.

It was Dumbledore that Harry liked to channel when he was presented with frustrating situations like this one.

Digging into his pocket, Harry pulled out a polishing cloth for his glasses, removed them, and began meticulously cleaning the lenses. After a minute, he started humming to himself as he did it. He took his time, stretching the minutes out irritatingly, making sure to adjust the wire rims back onto the bridge of his nose so they were perfectly stable.

" _Merlin_ , you're annoying."

Harry fought back a smirk. "Ah, so you do talk."

Deimos sneered at the Auror, but didn't respond.

Leaning back in his seat and placing his hands on his lap in front of him, Harry surveyed the boy. "I was sixteen once. Obnoxious year, really. Still, I didn't have any interest in murder at that age."

The boy looked away, staring angrily at the blank, white wall.

"Why did you do it?"

Silence.

Harry took off his glasses again and frowned theatrically at one of the lenses. Removing the polishing cloth from his pocket again, he began scrubbing away at an imaginary speck of dust. He was able to rub the cloth against the glass in such a way that it made a vexing squeaking sound, and did so repeatedly.

"Sweet Salazar, do _not_ start that shite again," Deimos effused, crossing his arms with a huff. "Fine, I'll talk. Just stop fucking cleaning your bloody glasses."

Harry put the glasses on his nose and waited.

"I murdered the Grangers, yes. I bribed the Dementors to attack her and steal her soul, yes. I have no tolerance for Mudbloods. They have no place in our world."

Face still molded into the essence of serenity, despite the angry fire that had ignited in his heart, Harry queried, "And Draco Malfoy?"

"Is a fucking _blood traitor._ "

"Were you going to kill him?"

Silence again.

Harry tried a different tactic, "Did you have plans to rape Hermione Granger?"

"Steal her soul, violate what's left of her, then dispose of the remains. Make Malfoy watch the whole thing. Maybe I'd have slit her throat open, who knows." Deimos attempted to appear nonchalant about this confession, but his shaking hands gave him away.

"Did you rape Astoria Greengrass?"

"Oh, she was _wonderful_ ," Deimos exulted, smirking at the memory. "She was Imperiused to give herself up. Intact until I popped her and everything."

"Why was Hermione any different from Astoria?"

"Well she's a Mudblood, isn't she? Probably would have had to wash the mud off my cock when I was done. Spill all her blood, I say, and see how filthy it really is."

Feeling he was at the end of his rope and might not be able to keep up the charade of composure much longer, Harry gathered himself up and stood.

"Where are you going?" Deimos demanded. "Don't you want to ask me any more questions?"

Feeling around for what would annoy Lestrange the most, Harry only idly responded, "Not really. It's a lovely day outside and I fancy a walk."

He shut the door behind him, but not before observing the fuming face of the teenager. Really, there was no reason to make the boy think he was more important than he was. Once the guard had returned to secure the room and the door was shut, Harry's cool placidity slid right off his face.

"Let's go," he muttered to Ron and Stidolph, his face burning with anger.

"Did he talk to you?" Stidolph wanted to know, as the three of them walked the length of the ward.

"Yes."

"What did he say? Did he confess?" Ron probed.

"He confessed to the murder of Hermione's parents, the rape of Astoria, and the intended rape _and_ murder of Hermione."

"Well _done_ , Potter," Stidolph praised. She came to a halt when they entered the stairwell, "I'm going to stay a bit longer. As soon as Deimos is sufficiently better, we'll have to arrange for him to be transported to Azkaban to await trial."

"I'm going to send a letter to Kingsley and ask him to remove the Dementors from Azkaban," Harry informed her stoutly. " _Why_ the Ministry even wanted them to return in the first place, I'm not sure."

Stidolph grinned, "If anyone can ask the Minister of Magic for something of that magnitude, I suppose it's you, Potter."

When she disappeared, Harry and Ron descended the stair together. Ron was rather quiet for a moment, until he finally queried, "Is Hermione still coming to dinner at the Burrow tonight?"

"As far as I know, yes. She promised Ginny she'd be back in time to Floo over with her. Apparating and Portkeys are becoming pretty uncomfortable for Gin in her current state… I'm not sure how much longer she'll be able to use the Floo either."

"I thought Hermione was still living with you?"

"Yeah, but she went to a party with Malfoy in Italy on Saturday and hasn't come back yet."

The redhead struggled valiantly not to make a scathing remark, reddening with the effort. "She stayed over at his house?"

Shrugging, Harry answered, "Honestly, she's not at Grimmauld Place very often. I think she usually stays over with him."

Ron appeared genuinely hurt. "Do you have any idea how long it took for Hermione to stay over with me? Over a year… and we were _friends_ first."

Harry stopped and looked his friend in the eye, "Ron, Hermione is not your girlfriend anymore. No matter what she wants to do, if you want to stay friends with her, you've got to support her. Even if it hurts."

"But it's _Malfoy_ …" Ron whined. He knew he'd made that argument before, so this time it sounded weak, even to his own ears.

"For what it's worth, Hermione _did_ become friends with him first. At least, it seemed like she tried."

"Do you think they're shagging?"

Harry closed his eyes and stopped mid-step, his foot hovering over the stair below, "I am going to pretend you never said that, because the _second to last_ thing I want to think about is Hermione having any kind of sex at all, and the _very_ _last_ thing I want to think about is Hermione having sex with Malfoy."

"Sorry," Ron apologized, rubbing the tip of his long nose in frustration. "It's just, she was _special_ , you know?"

"Still is," Harry pointed out, resuming his descent toward the lobby.

"Yeah, but…"

"Ron, if you're about to bring up your past sex life with Hermione… please don't."

"Okay."

"I'll see you at the Burrow later?"

Ron nodded, "Yeah, just me though. Gabby's not feeling too good and she offered to watch Victoire and Dominique so Bill and Fleur could come."

"Honestly," Harry answered, adjusting his pristine glasses, "that's probably for the best."

.

.

The back of Hermione's head hit the pillow roughly and she squeezed her eyes shut, keening with pleasure. Pieces of her sweaty hair were plastered to her neck and forehead.

Draco loved this view more than any other he'd yet experienced in their love-making. He could watch her come thoroughly undone before his eyes; it was resplendent. Quickening his cadence somewhat, he felt her nails begin to dig into his shoulder as her breath came out in quick, little pants.

Simultaneously, he could also feel her body in a different, otherwordly sort of way. It was ego-stroking, how complete her enjoyment of being filled by him was.

 _Look at me_ , he growled, twisting his finger through one of her curls and pulling it toward him to watch it bounce back up.

Her ocher eyes opened, somewhat glassy, her face flushed tantalizingly. Draco knew she could feel his enjoyment, too – every maddening nerve of his organ being stroked within her wetness, the heat that coiled near his groin, wanting just the right moment to burst into her.

He leaned in toward her, sucking on the sensitive patch of skin below her ear and nipping at the muscle in her neck. _Do you want me to let you come?_ he teased.

 _Please, please, please…_ she murmured in rhythm with his thrusts.

The sound of her begging for him, even in his mind, drove him absolutely wild. He titled his head down and grabbed her nipple between his teeth, making her back arch with a gasp. Draco could feel her beginning to clench around him and he groaned with satisfaction, lifting his head to press his forehead against hers.

Using his thumb to press against her clitoris, he grit his teeth and buried himself as deeply as he could penetrate into her body. Hermione felt his orgasm building imminently; she bit down on his earlobe and felt him shiver.

They were both lost to the void. It took them several minutes to recover.

He fell onto the bed beside her and grinned rakishly, a bit of his hair flopping into his eyes. Hermione inwardly scowled, thinking he really had no right to be that handsome, especially post-coitus. She was sure she looked a fright. She propped herself up on her elbow and turned to face him. "Thank Merlin for contraceptive charms."

Draco shuddered, this time not in pleasure, "I don't know how long it's been since there's been a Malfoy bastard, but that's not a distinction I'd like a child of mine to have."

Hermione blinked at him. In her mind, she was merely grateful not to be pregnant. Apparently, in Draco's mind, he'd gone beyond that and was grateful not to be producing illegitimate children.

Glancing at the clock, she sighed. "I should get going. I promised Ginny I would be home in a half hour so we could Floo to the Burrow together for dinner."

"You're still going there?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I promised I would."

He shrugged, sprawling himself out across his bed comfortably, unabashed of his nakedness. Hermione set the barely-there remains of her braid free and pulled all the hair she could gather into a bun at the nape of her neck, which was still dewy with sweat.

 _Weasley still cares about you._

 _We've been over this. Ron and I are friends._

"I know _you_ think that, but I'm not convinced he's on the same page."

"Even if that was true, you know I couldn't take him back. I have you." She bent over to kiss his cheek, then began to search for something she could use to clean herself up with. She could feel the remnants of his orgasm leaking from between her legs.

Picking up his wand from the bedside table, Draco conjured a towel for her and pressed a light kiss to her lips. _I already knew that, but it's still nice to hear you say it._

.

.

The Burrow remained unchanged, despite the months it had been since Hermione's last visit.

Upon seeing her appear in the Weasleys' sitting room with Ginny and Harry, George grinned and announced, "Well, _well_ , look who it is!" Angelina sat by his side on the patched, threadbare couch, engaged in conversation with Fleur.

"'Ermione," Fleur acknowledged imperiously, "eet 'as been too long…"

The wholehearted acceptance Hermione felt upon being received back into the Weasley family's Sunday night routine was staggeringly emotional in a way she hadn't expected it to be. Fleur hugged her, as – surprisingly – did Bill. Mrs. Weasley tittered over her health and general well-being and said six times how much she'd missed seeing her. Mr. Weasley informed her very pointedly about how he was working on an invention for magical fire alarms; this almost made Hermione tear up and Ginny had to steer her away into another conversation to distract her from falling into a bout of melancholy.

When Percy, Audrey and little Molly arrived, Percy cornered Hermione and apprized her of the fact that there was an opening in a very high-up position in his department at the Ministry, and that he would very much like her to apply. Hermione had to dash this hope as graciously as she could, but it was flattering all the same.

Ginny rolled her eyes at all the attention her friend was getting, but beamed nonetheless, "I've been _trying_ to tell you it wouldn't be awkward to come to dinner. Everyone missed you, I think especially Percy. You were the only one who really listened to him wax on about work…"

Angelina had integrated herself seamlessly into the Weasley family dynamic over the course of the past several months. She spoke candidly to Hermione about various post-Hogwarts goings-on, in a way they never had conversed while at school together. Later, George found Hermione unoccupied and approached her.

"How you holding up?"

"I'm managing, George, thank you," she answered, astonished at his attentiveness.

He only merely nodded at this and Hermione _almost_ began to wonder at the change in him, when a prank he'd planned ahead of time to turn Percy's hair banana-yellow the moment he referred to himself by his full title as 'the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation', took effect.

George tapped his nose and winked as Percy began to rampage. "Honestly, I'm shocked it took so long."

Ron arrived somewhat later, without Gabrielle, to Hermione's profound relief.

"Gabrielle ees at 'ome watching ze children," Fleur explained to Mrs. Weasley. "She 'as been a bit under ze wezzer."

Mrs. Weasley couldn't help making three separate comments to Ron over the course of the evening, comparing Hermione to Gabrielle. Luckily for Hermione, all three escaped her, though they each made Ron blush deeply.

Finally Ron had to say, "I get it, Mum. You preferred Hermione as my girlfriend. But I'm with _Gabby_ now and Hermione's moved on, too. Let it go."

Mrs. Weasley had pursed her lips, but refrained from commenting any more. She did, however, give Hermione a slice of cherry pie for dessert that was almost twice the size of Ron's, staring pointedly at him when she did it. Cherry pie was Ron's favorite

 _Pick your battles_ , Ron reminded himself wisely, digging in to his slice of pie sadly.

When Mrs. Weasley's back had turned, Hermione glanced surreptitiously at Ron and whispered, "I can't eat all this. Do you want half of mine?"

Ron did, as it turned out.

"So, Ginny," Percy began, stoically ignoring that his hair was still bright yellow from George's prank, "have you and Harry given any thought about names for your child?"

Ginny seemed quite serious when she answered, "We're thinking Alouicious for a boy and Hortenzia for a girl."

Mrs. Weasley looked horrified and dropped her spoon.

Harry chortled, "Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley, I wouldn't let her do that."

The matriarch took up her spoon again, looking distinctly relieved.

"You can't let Ginny name _anything_ ," Ron agreed scathingly. "Look what she did to Pig!"

"Pigwidgeon is a perfectly good name for an owl," Ginny retorted. "No… we're going with James for a boy and Lily for a girl."


	54. Pure No More

Author's Note: I had this chapter mostly written already, hence the super fast update. Huge thanks to those that still managed to sneak a review in, despite the short time lapse between chapters: siewchee12345, Chester99, fuzzy6, and Frogster!

.

.

The next day was Monday and Hermione went into work early to get ahead of things for the week. When Toula strode into their shared office two hours later, Hermione was already on her second cup of coffee and her bangs were shading her eyes as she bent over a piece of parchment, quill in hand. Toula tossed her purse and other things down by her desk, sat, and swiveled in her chair to face her colleague.

"Hermione?"

She looked up. Toula slapped a copy of _Witch Weekly_ into the center of her friend's desk.

"What's this about?"

"Take a look at that," the Greek woman suggested. She began to idly twirl one of her teased curls around her finger, all the while not taking her eyes off her friend.

"This was printed this morning," Hermione observed.

"I know, I get it delivered every Monday."

The cover featured a beautiful Scottish witch, who batted her eyelashes and blew kisses from her hand. The tagline claimed she was a renowned dueling champion. "What about it?"

"Oh, _I don't know_ ," Toula sang, too nonchalantly for Hermione's comfort, "why don't you look on page three?"

Hermione lifted the corners of the pages as though they were dirty tissues, hoping to make her disgust for gossip magazines apparent. Flipping to page three as Toula had suggested, her eyes grew round and she groaned out loud. A black-and-white photograph, clearly snapped from the sidelines at Abruzzese's party less than two days ago, pictured Draco arm-in-arm with Hermione. Below this was the bold title:

PURE NO MORE?

By Rita Skeeter

"Oh _no_ ," she moaned, "I can't read this!"

"Oh _yes_ ," Toula disagreed, grinning in an almost shark-like manner. "We are going to discuss _every word_."

Burying her face in her hands, Hermione uttered, "This _isn't happening_ …"

Trying to fight back a colossal grin and not succeeding, Toula called upon her most theatrical voice to read aloud: "'The Malfoy family is perhaps most famously known for being on the wrong side of history, only pardoned from legal retribution following their open support of You-Know-Who because of their massive wealth, this reporter can confirm. As is the case with many ancient pureblood lineages, the last remaining member of this prestigious family – twenty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy – has long been expected to announce his engagement to a young pureblooded woman.'"

"No more!" Hermione protested. She knew Rita Skeeter well enough to know that this relatively innocuous beginning was likely to become embarrassing – not to mention, fabricated – fast.

Toula was relentless. She continued: "'Recently however, young Mr. Malfoy was observed in the company of none other than famous war heroine turned radically liberal lawyer, Hermione Granger. The twenty-two-year-old witch has been linked to several well-known wizards in her day, including the likes of Harry Potter, Viktor Krum, and fellow war hero, Ronald Weasley. (For a detailed exploration of Miss Granger's love life, see page eight). It seems somewhat suspicious that Miss Granger – who has mercifully appeared to have tamed her previously wild and hideous hair – is linked to yet another well-known wizard…'"

"It's official… you hate me. There is no other reason to torture me like this," Hermione whined, her forehead hitting her desk with a loud ' _thunk'_.

"'One cannot help but wonder if Miss Granger fully appreciates the risks of associating with such a wizard,'" Toula read on, "'though perhaps her reasons are more mercenary than face-value would suppose. 'There is no doubt Granger is a Muggle-born witch,' a former Hogwarts classmate confirms. 'She's probably only involved with Malfoy for his money.' This reporter went to Gringotts Bank to determine _just_ how much wealth is actually sitting in the Malfoy vault, but a representative goblin refused to comment, other than to say, 'Mind your own business, you snoop.' Furthermore…'"

" _No_ furthermore…" Hermione protested

"' _Furthermore_ ,'" Toula stressed, grinning widely, "'there is reason for this reporter to believe, based on reports from some who attended Saturday night's gala at the home of Italian socialite Matteo Abruzzese, that Mr. Malfoy openly introduced Miss Granger there as his girlfriend. Hermione Granger will certainly want to re-evaluate her dating options following the reveal of this great scandal. (For a list of the Malfoy family's crimes involving He Who Must Not Be Named, see page nine).'"

Toula closed the magazine primly and set it neatly onto her desk.

"She's _really_ outdone herself this time," Hermione bit out scathingly, suddenly furious. "That foul _insect_ , I am going to make her pay for publishing such… such _drabble_!"

"Is it _true_ though?" Toula pressed.

"Is what true?"

"Are you Draco Malfoy's girlfriend?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped in defeat even as the ghost of a smile played on her lips. "Yes."

"Eeee!" Toula squealed, spinning her chair around in glee, "I _knew_ it! I _knew_ he was the one that left all those flowers… and look on the bright side, this photo makes your hair look superb."

The withering glower Hermione cast at her colleague just then, would have been enough to wilt the Whomping Willow, but Toula was unfazed.

"Tell me everything," she insisted, propping herself up on her elbows to listen. "How long have you been 'official'? Have you kissed? Have you _more than kissed_? How was it?"

Hermione cast her eyes upward and complained to the ceiling, "Why can't I have normal friends?"

"Hey, you made me find out from a _magazine_ ," Toula protested, poking her tongue out with distaste. "I am now entitled to know every juicy detail."

Effusing a great sigh, Hermione cast a longing look at the paperwork spread out across her desk. It had supremely bored her before, but now seemed like the preferable alternative to this interview.

 _There's an article about us in Witch Weekly. My friend has just attacked me with it,_ Hermione informed Draco.

She could feel his brimming amusement, along with a hint of caution. _Oh?_

 _It's Rita Skeeter._

 _Ah. Say no more._

"We only became official at the end of last week," Hermione admitted tersely.

Toula opened her mouth to ask another question, but both women froze when they heard shouting coming from Livius Trimble's office. "…DEMENTORS CONTROLLING AZKABAN THAT CAN BE BRIBED BY AN UNDERAGE WIZARD… THE MINISTRY SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF ITSELF. THIS IS HOW UPRISINGS BEGIN…"

Hermione and Toula shared a deep frown and poked their heads out their office door in curiosity. Down the length of hallway, others from the department were doing the same. Trimble emerged from his office, slamming the door behind him. Taking note of the many curious expressions of his employees, he mouthed over the din, "Howlers."

Another continued after the first ended: "…DEMAND THAT REFORM BE PROCESSED IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS AN IMMINENT THREAT TO OUR SOCIETY…"

"…PUTTING WIZARDING LIVES ON THE LINE BY ENTRUSTING CRIMINALS TO DEMENTORS, WHICH HAVE PROVEN TIME AND AGAIN THAT THEY CAN BE SWAYED TO CATER TO THEIR OWN NEEDS…"

"…DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT CLEARLY RUN BY A BUNCH OF BABOONS…"

Cringing from all the shouting, Hermione ducked back into her office. _Word has also gotten out about the Dementors, apparently._

She could sense Draco's surprise. _How do you know?_

 _My boss is currently inundated with Howlers. People want them removed from control of Azkaban immediately._

 _They're not wrong_ , Draco mused.

After a moment, she asked, _Will I see you tonight?_

 _I'll be at Theo's for the morning and back in Ireland for the evening. Come when you're out._

.

.

"You _can't_ be serious about her!" Theo insisted desperately. "Think about your bloodline…"

"Why do you care so much?" Draco demanded, folding his arms across his chest. "It's _my_ bloodline, not yours. Do with yours what you will. Leave the future of mine to me."

Theo hunched slightly, his weedy body seeming to cave in on itself. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"Apparently not. What am I to have an idea about?"

Theo's brown eyes flashed strangely from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He straightened, and without warning, he stepped toward Draco purposefully, grabbed the blond's face in his hands and kissed him spectacularly on the lips.

 _No, no, absolutely not!_ Draco's brain screamed at him. He wrenched away from his friend, breathing heavily. "In the name of all that is holy, Theo… what _the actual fuck_!"

Theo adjusted his glasses and shuffled his feet, his eyes boring holes into Draco's as he murmured quietly, "You have other options than just Granger, you know."

Draco felt a queasy feeling settle into his stomach.

 _Everything alright?_ Hermione's voice echoed in his mind.

Draco didn't reply right away, as he wasn't sure he knew the answer yet. _Ask me again in a few minutes._

He could sense her worry, but she respected his request, pulling back into his subconscious and going quiet.

Seemingly encouraged by Draco's silence, Theo shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to explain, "I've been waiting for _years_ to see who you would become, to see if you ever showed any interest in me. You should know, Draco, I've done hours and hours of research. There's nothing – nothing, _at all_ – that says a pureblood line is ruined by a romantic alliance between two men."

Draco could only gape. He'd always suspected Theo's leanings, and the Nott heir had never tried to deny any accusations that he was homosexual… but this was another realm entirely.

He took a single stride toward Draco, who moved immediately backward, like the steps to a strange dance. Theo looked hurt, but continued nonetheless, "Think of the purity in uniting two of the most noble pureblood houses. The last heirs of both Malfoy and Nott… the glory we could achieve…"

"First of all, Theo," Draco finally said, taking another step back from the other man, "I don't have any interest in blokes. _None._ Second, you're my friend – one of my _only_ friends, and I regret that you've had to go through this alone. It was the furthest intention from my mind, to encourage something like this…"

"I know you're on a courting hiatus," Theo interrupted eagerly. "I can wait."

Draco shook his head, "Theo…"

"Draco, _listen_ ," he pleaded, pulling his hands from his pockets and gesticulating wildly. "Do you remember, after Astoria died and you said 'I could have loved her someday. Someone like me doesn't get two chances at that'? Give _me_ that chance…"

"I have Hermione," Draco told him stoutly.

Theo's face contorted into a grimace, "You'd rather have the Mudblood."

" _Yes_ , I _would_."

"How has she ensnared you?" Theo demanded, striding forward again and roughly jamming his hands onto Draco's shoulders, shaking him roughly. "Is it a potion? The Imperius?"

Batting Theo's hands off him and wrenching himself away, Draco took several more steps back, angling toward the door, "None of that. I love her. She loves me."

"If she weren't around…" Theo began threateningly, then shook his head violently. "She will _never_ be able to care for you the way I would. The way I _do_."

Draco's eyes widened in growing horror. He and Theo had been in diapers together, had grown up together, had shared secrets, had learned, had made mistakes, had become young men together. What Draco had always assumed was completely platonic, had apparently been none of that for Theo.

"I didn't eat for a week after you announced your engagement to _Astoria_ ," Theo revealed, spitting out Draco's late fiancée's name like a curse. "I couldn't sleep. I knew I couldn't lose you…"

Mind whirring, Draco began connecting the dots.

"She was pureblooded, yes, but could she make you _happy?_ " Theo demanded. "No. I thought about approaching you anyway… but a Nott isn't a lover, to be kept in secret. Nott is a kingly name to be proud of, not to be hidden in shadows. She needed to be removed from the picture."

Going still, Draco's partially rebuilt world felt like it was swiftly crumbling at his feet. " _You_ killed Astoria!"

"Of course not," Theo retorted with a derisive snort. "Lestrange did, just as he said."

"I don't understand." Draco checked to make sure his wand was at the ready; Theo was currently a wildcard and it was prudent to be on his guard.

"Just over two years ago, Perseus Lestrange came rooting around for information in my library about blood grudges. He didn't tell me _willingly_ that's what he was looking for, of course, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be… He'd enacted a grudge against your father, years ago, when Lucius and Narcissa first married, but later came to regret such a foolish decision after seeing how happy your mother was.

"Some twenty years later, he wanted to see if the presence of revenge magic in his blood was reversible. He believed it was beginning to make him ill, since he hadn't acted upon it. It was laughably easy to put him under the Imperius Curse in his weakened state."

Theo had begun prowling the room like an agitated predator, never taking his eyes from Draco. "I was… _upset_ … about your engagement. You will remember coming to see me shortly before your mother forced you to begin courting?"

"I remember," Draco murmured, his mouth dry. "We drank through an entire bottle of your father's best vodka."

Brown eyes glinting with the memory and looking hopeful that Draco had recalled it as well, Theo nodded. "You didn't want to marry."

"That was _then_."

Theo shook his head. "I forced Lestrange to kill your mother under the Imperius Curse. A part of him loved her still and he hated me for it; I didn't care. He was an easy person to suspect, given his family's history, but he covered his trail well. I thought perhaps my anger had been sated… and maybe, just _maybe_ , now that you'd essentially lost both your parents – like I had – it would bring us closer. The last of two magnificent families. You would be sad, of course, but you would heal. In an ideal world, it would have been _me_ that helped you heal."

"A wound that _you_ created!" Draco exploded.

"Narcissa was meddling in your life. She would never have allowed us to be together…"

"We're _still_ not together!" Draco reasoned. He felt like someone had punctured his heart, the hole growing larger as the organ hyperventilated and steadily leaked into his chest cavity.

"You were engaged. I half expected you to break it off after your mother died, but you didn't. For two _effing_ years, I tried to be happy for you, but I wasn't. Lestrange grew stronger; he tried to fight me, but I overpowered him…"

"…And forced him to kill Astoria," Draco finished the sentence. His hands were shaking and sweating with anger.

"She was an obstacle that kept you from me."

"She didn't deserve to die."

"We all deserve to die," Theo contradicted vehemently. "As a punishment against Perseus for trying to fight me, I Imperiused the younger Lestrange to assist his father in Astoria's murder."

"You forced a sixteen year old to rape my intended wife..."

A slow smirk spread onto Theo's mouth, his eyes amused, "Funny thing about that, actually. It turns out Deimos Lestrange really is just _that_ twisted. My orders were simple: kill her. Vague enough to leave plenty of room for creativity. Deimos is a sick fuck, even by my standards. It must have been a relief for Astoria when Perseus finally put the girl out of her misery. Still, Perseus was always thorough, if nothing else. He Obliviated Astoria's chaperone and Imperiused her to turn herself in as the guilty party, like a pig bringing itself to slaughter."

Draco's hands were clenched into fists, one around his wand, the other itching to deck Theo in the face. He'd been struck silent by rage, which was roiling off his body in waves.

"Then, lo and behold, you came to stay with me," Theo breathed out reverently. "Just like I'd hoped you would. You were hurting, of course, but you came to _me_ … out of everyone."

Unsticking his throat, Draco murmured, "I thought you were my _friend_. I couldn't go home and I thought I was safe with you."

"You were more safe than you've ever been, when you were with me," Theo told him, his eyes softening like butter melting. "I would have _died_ , to keep you from harm."

"But instead you decided to set Deimos on Hermione's parents."

"Like I said, Deimos is a sick fuck," Theo insisted. "He was convinced his father's actions were genuine. When Perseus was captured, I forced him to publicly confess to the murders. Lestrange Junior apparently took his father's behavior to heart."

"The Grangers were only murdered after you'd discovered it was Hermione that I was involved with," Draco realized.

"It's shockingly difficult to get at the brains of the Golden Trinity. Her parents were easy targets; I wanted to see how their deaths affected you. See how involved you really were with her. Deimos was all too happy to oblige. He even relished the idea of sticking his dick in the Mudblood, herself. I didn't care what he did anymore. He was sloppy, emotional, and boring. I cared about _you_. You were falling under her spell; it was blatantly obvious. You stopped caring about your bloodline. You stopped caring about being pureblood. You stopped caring about being everything a Malfoy _should_ be!

"Do you know how much it sucks, caring about someone you can't have? Seeing them, but knowing they'll never be yours? All I could do is dream about you and wish for you, but never have you. It's like drowning, but I just wouldn't fucking _die_!" Theo let out an anguished sob-like noise. His eyes were still rooted to Draco, who was completely motionless like prey that hoped it could be camouflaged from a nearby predator. "It's the most exquisite form of self-destruction imaginable… that nothing makes me happier _and_ nothing makes me sadder, than you."

Draco swallowed heavily. This all seemed so surreal, like he was having an out-of-body experience. "I don't love you, Theo. I am never going to love you the way you want me to. I can't."

Theo laughed a little manically, "It's okay, I wouldn't want to love me, either."

Draco wasn't sure what to do next. One of his last remaining friends – probably his _best_ friend – had just admitted to being violently enamored with him to the point that he was willing to _murder_ for him… and not just murder strangers, but Draco's fiancée, his girlfriend's parents… Draco's own mother.

"I can't let you leave, you know." Theo's voice snapped Draco back to attention.

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to go tell someone what I just told you, obviously."

Sensing his chance was near, Draco's hand tightened on his wand, his mind whirring for an appropriate spell. He tried to summon up the anger and aggression he'd felt when Lestrange had first admitted to the murders of Narcissa and Astoria, but stumbled only upon a deep, _deep_ sadness. "You destroyed nearly everything I hold dear. Why?"

"Because I love you."

Draco shook his head. "I know what love is. It's not any of what you described."

Theo's half-smile, half-grimace dropped into a snarl. "Don't _you_ tell me what I feel. I've loved you since we were children."

 _Now_ , Draco realized. He was a fair duelist; Lucius had trained him well. His wand was out in a moment, and he cast an Incarcerous faster than Theo had a chance to determine what was happening. Instead of chains springing from the end of his wand to bind Theo, Draco felt himself freeze as if he'd been placed under an Immobulus.

"I've done enough looking at wards at both our ancestral homes to add a few of my own," Theo explained, striding toward Draco and plucking his wand from his frozen hand. "No attacking the Master of the house in _my_ home."

 _He's too smart for his own good_ , Draco concluded dismally. Reaching out, he called frantically, _Hermione?_

He barely had time to recognize the reassuring glimmer of her presence before everything went black.


	55. Trial by Misericorde

Author's Note: Yet another chapter, because no one likes a cliffhanger, not even me. Huge thanks are due to the lovely reviewers: Chester99, siewchee12345, jperks, nikawritesx, Musicangel913, fuzzy6, Sam Wallflower, skellyshook, 4fanci, Gunnhildde, Frogster, cmtaylor531, IGOTEAMEDWARD, Christineoftheopera, K. E. Degz!

I would also like to add **two disclaimers** : 1) The entire idea of a trial like this is something I shamelessly stole from the amazing and brilliant Christopher Paolini. I do not own that scene, nor do I own his series. If you notice the similarities, it's because Trial by Misericorde was something I've been planning for this fic for _ages_ and I borrowed _very_ heavily from the Trial of the Long Knives. 2) Definitely, _definitely_ a tigger warning for violence and self-harm for this chapter.

.

.

It was still light out when Draco's eyes cracked open again, signaling that he couldn't have been unconscious for more than a few hours at the utmost. He sat up quickly, the events of his confrontation with Theo hitting him like a faceful of bricks.

"Finally, you're awake."

Theo was sitting on the other side of the room in an ornate, claw-footed chair, looking concerned. Glancing around briefly, Draco decided he must be in one of the bedchambers at Nott Estate. The room was decorated extravagantly in an abundance of gold and porcelain. The hangings on the bed Draco lay in were a rich blue and soft like crushed velvet. A large display cabinet of artifacts and Nott heirlooms stretched the length of the wall behind Theo.

Draco glanced down at himself quickly, relieved to discover he was still fully clothed. After all his former friend's shocking confessions, Theo made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Sensing the trail of Draco's thoughts, Theo's cheeks colored and he grew visibly offended. "I'm not a _rapist_ , Draco."

"I don't know _who_ you are, anymore."

"I'm the same person I've always been, only now you know a little more about me."

Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, still several feet away from Theo. Calling on his best impression of Lucius's finest cold hauteur, Draco almost seemed bored when he queried, "Now that you've thoroughly betrayed and then imprisoned me, Nott, what exactly is it you plan to do with me?"

"I honestly don't know," Theo admitted. "I was worried when you blacked out. The wards weren't supposed to make _that_ happen."

 _Hermione?_

He could feel her extreme shock, and hear her gasp as though she were directly beside him. _Are you alright? What's happened?_

 _It's Theo. He orchestrated all the murders._

Her consequent speechlessness was tangible. Draco could hear her brain whirring, too fast and irrational for him to keep up.

Stalling, Draco cocked a pale eyebrow at his captor. "So I'm here until I rot?"

Theo shrugged, "Not a bad plan."

"You realize that eventually someone is going to come looking for me…"

Waving this away, Theo replied, "I have warded this Estate immaculately. You will recall Granger so graciously giving me a sample of her blood? I used some of it so ensure the wards would recognize it. If she so much as allows one of her bushy hairs to find its way onto my property, she will be splinched into over a hundred pieces. To doubly ensure she doesn't worm her presence here through some _other method_ , I also warded against Mudbloods, half-bloods and Weasleys."

 _Don't try to come here_ , Draco warned, snaking his way into Hermione's jumbled train of thought. _Theo's wards will kill you if you try to come to Nott Estate, so whatever you do, don't decide to go full Gryffindor. I'm handling this._

 _Do you expect me to sit back and do nothing?_ she cried.

 _I'm asking you to be patient…_ he reasoned.

"Seems you've thought of everything," Draco observed aloud. "Since you're so anxious to have me as a forced, long-term guest, can I at least have my wand back?"

Theo's eyes narrowed, "I'm not that foolish."

Draco hadn't expected him to be, really. "Seems we're at an impasse then."

"It appears so."

It had not been for nothing, that Draco had been forced to share a roof with the Dark Lord and with countless Death Eaters for a year. His eyes seemed only to make the briefest scan of the room, but in doing so, he took in a collection of pertinent information: his wand was not in plain sight and the view from the windows indicated they were on the third floor, making it an undesirable method of escape. There was no fireplace to attempt freedom by Floo and Draco had no inclination to splinch himself trying to Apparate away, as he was sure Theo had thought of that. Half-hidden by the leg of his captor's chair was a three-quarters full crystal container of some unknown amber-colored liquid that looked suspiciously like whiskey, which meant Theo had already polished through a quarter of it on his own, as Theo _never_ began daydrinking from a half-empty decanter. Beyond the usual collection furniture, only the showy display case along the far wall behind Theo seemed to hold anything of interest.

His footfalls muffled by the oriental carpet, Draco paced lazily toward the large hutch of artifacts. He could feel Hermione's reassuring presence in the back of his consciousness, waiting only for a signal of some kind. It was times like these, Draco could appreciate her rationality.

Theo tensed up, rising from his seat as the blond approached.

Behind the six glass doors of the cupboard, innumerable Nott family heirlooms were displayed. Draco's eyes scanned the collection, finally resting on one item in particular: a long box made of old leather and wood. His mind raced at a clip, calculating his slim options and swiftly coming to a weighty verdict.

"Remember when you said you'd got rid of all those vials of Nott family blood your ancestors had collected over the years?" Draco queried.

Theo raised his eyebrows, clearly wondering toward what end the conversation was headed. He gestured to a place in the display where numerous small objects had obviously been removed recently, made apparent by the collection of dust rings that still occupied the blank space. "I didn't make it up. I hate that tradition. All the effing research I did on blood to determine if purebloods were _really_ superior and I came up with nothing..."

"Yet you care so much about _me_ keeping up pureblood ideals," Draco reasoned coolly.

"That's different," Theo insisted.

"Is it?"

Theo glowered at him, reaching down to snag the decanter by his chair. He uncorked it and took a deep swig, hesitated, then offered it to Draco like he always did.

Taking the offered bottle, Draco thought he could probably use a bit of liquid courage for what he was about to suggest and drank deeply. He had been correct – it was whiskey. "Make a deal with me."

"What sort of deal?" Theo seemed wary, but also intrigued.

Opening the second door of the hutch, Draco pulled out the leather-wrapped box that had caught his attention only a moment ago. It was embossed with the Nott Family coat of arms. He set the box down on Theo's seat and opened it.

Theo paled, staring incredulously at Draco and at the velvet-lined box. Within lay two triangular blades, roughly the length of Draco's forearm.

"I invoke Trial by Misericorde," Draco announced, silver eyes piercing directly into Theo's browns.

Taking a deep breath, Draco silently warned Hermione, _I am about to do something you aren't going to like. Trust me that I have to do it._

Her alarm was palpable, but he could also sense her trust in him. He regretted that he was about to strain it.

The Nott heir recognized the challenge, outdated practice though it was. Licking his lips nervously, he queried, "Stakes?"

"If I am victor, I go free and you accept the consequences of your betrayal."

Angrily, Theo stomped his foot and demanded, "If it's me?"

 _I love you_ , Draco reminded her before promptly ejecting Hermione from his mind, amid her protests. He didn't want her to have any part of this, not even to bear witness.

"I will stay here without complaint and without seeking retribution against you… and I will agree to forge a binding alliance with you."

A pregnant silence permeated the room. The sudden widening of Theo's eyes would have been comical in any other situation.

"I accept the terms."

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Draco prayed he knew what he was doing. Meanwhile, Theo summoned Bindy, his house elf, to be the necessary witness to the ritual. They sealed the stakes in magic; Bindy was already shaking with fear and worry.

Draco took a deep breath, hoping his grey eyes were shielding his apprehension. Theo offered his adversary the whiskey decanter a second time and Draco took it, swigging deeply. He handed the liquor back with an automatic half-smile, just as if it were old times and they were best friends again.

Reaching for the long knife closest to him, he observed the narrow blade with trepidation. The handle was of polished bronze and depicted two serpents engaged in mortal battle.

 _How fitting_ , he thought without humor.

Having done plenty of research in the past several months on blood grudges, Draco had become acquainted with many of the methods purebloods had employed throughout the centuries to settle disputes. As far as he knew, Trial by Misericorde hadn't been invoked since the 1800s. The long knives had been used in medieval times to deliver a swift, merciful euthanasia to a seriously wounded knight. The blade was narrow enough to sink between plates of armor or pushed through eye holes in a helmet; it was triangular in shape to cause a greater amount of internal damage.

Pureblood wizards, of course, never got involved in the affairs of knights if they could help it. Still, it was not unusual for a pureblooded family to keep a pair around for the express purpose of the Trial by Misericorde… or in this day and age, the memory of what it had once represented.

The Nott blades were in pristine condition, deadly sharp and likely kept in newly polished condition through old magic. Draco gripped the handle and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, maintaining eye contact with his opponent.

Theo copied Draco's actions, eyeing Draco's already severely scarred arm with no small amount of worry. "You got rid of it," he stated, coming up empty-handed when he searched for the Dark Mark.

 _I'd been drunk then, though_ , Draco remembered with trepidation.

He thought idly of Hermione and hoped he could be as courageous as her, but he had been placed in Slytherin and she in Gryffindor for a reason. Slytherin House produced wizards who valued self-preservation, not reckless acts of bravery.

Still, he would have to try his best…

The sun was beginning to set, casting a ruddy glow into the room. Theo placed the deadly sharp blade a quarter of an inch away from his forearm, just below the crease of his elbow, and murmured, "I will begin."

He drew the polished edge across his skin, where it split like a crimson smile, blood welling out.

Determined, Draco's face was set like stone as he, too, drew the icy blade across his arm. The sharpened steel bit into his skin so easily, he had to struggle not to cut too deeply. It was a test of wills to discover who could withstand the most cuts, thus being declared the victor.

 _This is absurd and extremist_ , Draco thought to himself, wondering if he'd finally gone mad to suggest it in the first place.

It was a mark of how accustomed he'd become to Hermione's presence within his own mind, that he was startled when she didn't reply back.

Theo cut himself a second time, a neat line directly under the first. Bindy the house elf began making babbling and squeaking noises from the corner of the room, trying to cover her eyes but duty forcing her to peek out through her fingers.

Draco kept his muscles slack, knowing that if he tensed, the process would be all the more painful as he allowed the Misericorde to further mutilate his ugly, scarred arm. A thousand protesting nerves admonished him to cease as he made the second cut. He could hear his own pulse.

Theo lacerated his arm again, the cords in his neck bulging with effort. Blood was running from his three open wounds and dripping onto the expensive carpet.

Gritting his teeth, Draco made his third incision.

A moment later, Theo opened up a fourth gash on his forearm, as Draco did on his own.

The fifth cut followed...

And a sixth…

Meanwhile, a strange lethargy began to overtake him; he was so very cold and tired. It occurred to Draco that the victor might not be decided by their tolerance for pain, but by who passed out first from loss of blood. Streams of it ran across his wrist and down his fingers, splashing into a gruesome puddle by his feet. A similar puddle was steadily spreading around Theo's shoes. The carpet was soaked with their intermingled gore.

Theo had to exert some effort to find a bit of flesh wide enough to make a seventh cut, selecting a place between his third and fourth. He released a spray of blood from his rigid muscles.

 _He's clenching_ , Draco realized jubilantly, hoping the mistake would be enough to break his adversary.

As he selected a portion of his own traumatized flesh to destroy, Draco's arm twitched, resulting in the Misericorde slicing twice as deeply as the others and leaving a jagged wound in its wake.

" _Fuck_ ," he cursed aloud as the pain redoubled. He could feel his breath falter while he bore the agony.

Theo's entire body was shaking as he placed the long knife again onto his forearm. He was pale, sweat dripping into his eyes, his wounds running like repugnant creeks. For a moment, it seemed as if his courage had failed, but with a determined snarl, he slashed at his arm in triumph.

"Best that," he challenged. Even his lips were pale.

Groping for the last vestiges of his strength, Draco could sense his vision dimming and flickering. Feeling a fierce, sick kind of exhilaration overtaking him, he matched Theo's eighth cut and then, spurred on by a sudden apathy for his own well-being, he brought the knife down a ninth time.

The prospect of having to make two cuts – one to match Draco's and another to advance in the contest – seemed to intimidate Theo.

"Yield?" Draco questioned hopefully.

Theo blinked, shook his head unconvincingly, and positioned the knife again, raising the weapon. A spasm distorted his right hand and the Misericorde fell from his grasp, burying itself into the floor. Theo dropped to his knees beside it and he doubled over, pressing his wounds against his belly to attempt to staunch the bleeding.

"I yield."

Draco groped for the chair behind him, knocking the case that had held the weapons heedlessly to the ground. He sunk into the seat with relief, grateful he'd been able to keep himself upright long enough to finish the task.

"Remove the wards," he growled.

Theo's submission was sloppy from his light-headedness, but still effective. Draco could feel a strong desire to allow sleep to overtake him, fighting it tooth-and-nail as he felt the wisps of magic breaking around him as Theo removed the barriers surrounding Nott Estate.

Allowing Hermione to burst into his mind, Draco sensed in her a concentrated fury that she'd been shut out in the manner she had, instantly replaced by worry at the listlessness of his mind.

 _Nott Estate_ , he slurred. The blood pooling by his feet had combined with Theo's to make an expansive lake that crept onto the hardwood and slithered along the cracks in the floorboards. _Bring Aurors._

Probably the quickest thing Hermione had ever done in her life, was collecting the on-duty Harry and Laurence to bring them to Nott Estate – and that was saying something. Apparently she was sufficiently scary, even to them, for them to storm into a wealthy pureblood's home without a warrant or much explanation at all.

It took Draco two tries to conjure some fabric strips to cover his wounds, vowing to deal with treatment later. He barely yanked his sleeve down in time for Hermione to burst into the room with all the subtlety and grace of a rhinoceros. Laurence took one look at the scene and made a quick cross-like pattern with his wand, sending a request for medical help. "St. Mungo's. Nott Estate, third floor."

Seeing that Laurence was already consoling poor Bindy, who was beside herself, and knowing the medi-wizards were on their way, Harry skirted the twin puddles of blood and approached Nott with his wand ready. Blood issued down in a slow waterfall from where Theo's arm was pressed against his abdomen. He was ashen, barely conscious as he propped his back up against the display case. Harry knelt down by him and pulled the arm away to inspect the damage.

" _Merlin_ , Hermione… his arm."

The gaping crimson slits decorating Theo's arm reminded Draco of fish gills. For some reason, this seemed uncommonly funny to him, but his thoughts were so sluggish, he couldn't resist uttering a small laugh. Hermione's eyes widened, her expression one of terror, as if he'd gone utterly mad.

Instead of screaming like her face clearly indicated she wanted to, Hermione demanded, _How much of that blood is yours?_

 _The half of it nearest me. Don't say a word._

 _What did you do?_

 _Later._

She cast him an inscrutable look, but held her tongue with some difficulty as a medi-wizard arrived to take Theo away. Laurence began to insist that Draco also go to St. Mungo's for treatment, but Draco protested so vehemently that Harry urged Laurence not to push the subject. He'd often seen that same stubbornness in Hermione, and he knew nothing was going to make him budge.

 _Are we going home?_ Draco queried hopefully, locking his vision onto her to have something reassuring to focus on.

 _Nowhere else,_ she agreed, supporting him from the chair and wrapping his right arm around her shoulders. _Then you're going to tell me everything._


	56. Poultices for Healing

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in updating! Real life and all that... anyway, thank you so, so, _so_ much to all those who left me lovely reviews: Christineoftheopera, siewchee12345, jperks, Frogster, Sam Wallflower, Chester99, I was BOTWP, the Guest reviewer, Iseult, Calimocho, sparklemilk, Helianthus7, and annalyciareads! I love hearing everyone's thoughts, although I'm sorry about Theo, since I know a lot of people liked him.

Just a reminder, it will likely be a week before the next update, as I will be enjoying myself in Florida, visiting Harry Potter World and getting horribly sunburned on a beach in the Gulf. I appreciate everyone's patience, in advance.

.

.

"Tell me you didn't do this _to yourself_!" Hermione hissed as she pulled back the bloodied, makeshift bandages around Draco's left forearm. With the removal of even this meanest of barriers, the wounds began oozing freshly. Darker smears of older blood cluttered his forearm like they'd been daubed there with a sponge, surrounding the actively bleeding sites. She dove into a bag of medical necessities, rummaging for the appropriate supplies.

"Are you encouraging me to lie to you?"

She pursed her lips, reminding Draco an awful lot of a displeased Professor McGonagall when she did. "Explain," she entreated imperiously.

Draco glanced down at the gruesome wounds. The bleeding had lessened greatly, but a searing pain was beginning to override his adrenaline rush.

 _Do you remember when I scraped that foul Mark off my arm?_

Hermione shot him a look, then turned pointedly away, pulling the things she needed from her bag. As if she could forget! Miffed, she answered, _I remember._

 _You tended me._

"None _too_ tenderly," she recalled. "I thought you were a _prat_ then, too."

He tried not to look at his forearm, though it certainly was eye-grabbing. "Well obviously, this was all a part of a plan to earn a fantastic shag with you later."

"Draco, you… you are not allowed to make a _joke_ right now!" she hissed. "I want to know what happened."

"It wasn't _completely_ a joke," he muttered, wincing as she sprinkled on some essence of dittany. He became serious at the livid expression on her face, explaining, "Trial by Misericorde: it's a… _rather_ outdated method for settling pureblood disputes. Theo confessed he'd killed my mother, Astoria, and your parents… or rather, that he'd Imperiused the Lestranges to do it…"

"Why would he _do_ such a thing?" Hermione gasped, her brow knitting in frustration as the dittany refused to close the wounds the way it ought. "I thought Nott was your friend?"

"I thought so, too."

He must have looked more forlorn than he'd meant to, because Hermione's expression softened and she began handling him somewhat more gently. "I'm sorry. It's hard to be betrayed by anyone… especially those we're close to."

Draco fell silent, watching Hermione work on his arm and allowing himself to be fussed over. The sun had fully set by now, a woodsy silence settling on the East Tower at Woodhaven.

Sobered now that the adrenaline rush had dissipated, he was sincere but quiet when he said, _I think you brought light into that scar, when you cared for it after I removed that Mark._

Her fingers froze for a moment, but that was the only indication she gave that she'd heard him. Presently, she continued as if he hadn't said a word.

 _I began to feel like there was a chance for me, maybe. This just goes to show, I can try to redeem myself all I want, but there are sins in my past that are always going to come back to haunt me. Now I have another permanent reminder…_

 _You had better not try scraping this off, too,_ she threatened darkly. Her brows furrowed. She was growing more and more frustrated that the bloody fissures on his arm weren't closing up, though the bleeding had been staunched by the dittany.

She reached for her wand on the bedside table and he pressed his other hand on top of hers to halt whatever spell she'd intended to cast. "Spells won't work."

"Why not?" she demanded. Her wand, clenched in her fist, emitted the tiniest of red sparks, indicating her frustration.

"It's a part of the Trial's enchantments," he elucidated. "The participants are obliged to allow their cuts to become scars. Magical healing methods are useless on these."

Hermione's wand fell neatly from her hand and into her lap as her eyes widened in abhorrence. "That… is _completely_ … _totally_ … barbaric!"

"I know," he agreed.

Dragging her teeth across her lower lip, Hermione sucked in a breath as she placed her fingers along the jagged edge of the deepest of Draco's cuts where his hand had slipped during the Trial. Gritting her teeth at the resulting line, wandering longer and wider than the others, she spit out, "You are so… _incredibly_ stupid."

It would have been all too easy to rise to her bait and begin an argument, but Draco was too relieved to be experiencing any of her emotions firsthand to care. The fact that he was here – with _her_ – was a miracle…

...Which was why, instead of retorting, he snatched her chin into his right hand and kissed her senseless. He basked in the feel of her lips, soft and moist, and could almost taste her fire. She was furious with him, he knew... for taking his life into his hands the way he had, for shutting her out, for not allowing her to protect him.

Her essence was beautiful, shining, surrounded by golden light and he never wanted to look away. She had erected shields around herself – strongholds she maintained to keep herself from becoming hurt by things out of her control – and he brushed them away like they were hanging panels of silk.

 _Why did you shut me out?_ The question was quiet, but Draco heard the other, unspoken questions she was asking along with it.

 _To protect you… and to spare myself the embarrassment. I didn't want you bearing witness to something like… that._

He could tell she didn't agree with his answer, but Draco would rather have gone running naked through a field of sharpened swords and Dementors, than let her know how close he'd been to losing her forever.

 _You should have let me help you_ , she admonished. _Instead of resorting to this._

 _You can't always be protecting me, Hermione. Sometimes I am going to have to protect myself… and this is a demon I've had much, much longer than sixth year._ Then, aloud he added, "It's going to take me awhile to bury this particular ghost, but I'm getting there."

Hermione sniffed dryly. "Draco Malfoy, you have manned up."

Draco squinted slightly, wondering out of habit if there was an insult in that statement. He couldn't detect one, so he decided to consider it a compliment, until proven otherwise.

She was chewing her bottom lip to shreds, picking dried herbs and vials of healing ingredients out of her bag and pressing them together into a poultice. Her hands were dirtied with the task, so she was unable to use her fingers to push back a swath of her bushy hair when it tumbled into her face. She had to resort to shrugging her shoulder backward ridiculously to try banishing it.

Draco observed her struggles and a tiny smile curved the corners of his mouth upward. He reached out and tucked her hair back for her. Her eyes flickered upward to his for a moment. She began packing the poultice onto his forearm, but said nothing.

"I love you," he blurted out.

Hermione's eyes softened as she gently began wrapping his entire forearm and the stinging poultice in tight, sterile bandages. It was heavy, awkward, burned like fire, and hurt like hell.

"You said it out loud," she observed with a small smile, wrapping up the binding around his arm.

"If you want me to, I will tell the entire world."

"Not necessary." Leaning over the bed and pressing her lips to his, she resisted his effort to deepen the kiss, instead trying to impress upon him the earnestness of how much she cared for him. Crawling into the bed beside him, her hands moved around his neck, arms settling onto his shoulders. _Just promise never to shut me out in that manner again._

 _Any easy promise to give. Barricading you against me was the most acute form of torture I've endured all day._

Pulling away from him amid his protests, she raised an eyebrow at his bandaged arm. "You are such a liar."

He smirked at her, pulling her back again. It was a long while before he was sated with enough of her touch to simply cradle her into his body, occasionally pressing a lazy kiss onto her neck or pushing her insistent hair out of his face.

It was some time later when Hermione's eyes fluttered up to his and she admitted, "I just don't understand why Nott would _do_ such a thing to you."

Too tired and still too betrayed to explain it in full, Draco squeezed his eyes shut. Theo's treachery was a very prominent island of hurt floating in an abyss of discomfort.

"Draco…?"

"If you're going to mention Theo again, don't," he advised. "I'm not ready to deal with that, yet."

"Okay," she conceded. After a pause, she continued, "Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't… that is…" she attempted.

He cocked an eyebrow at her struggles.

"…I am _never_ going to do that to you, or anything like it. I _really_ do care about you, and in a much different way than Nott…"

"Salazar's tits, Hermione…. I _know_ that!"

A giggle escaped her lips at his choice in curse words. Sidling closer into him and sighing lightly in relief, she vowed, _We'll get through this together… I promise._

Draco didn't answer, but he sincerely hoped she was right.

.

.

Draco meandered along the path that wended its way through the forests surrounding Woodhaven at a measured pace, the dogs following suit. Festus kept by his side at all times, while Aries and Deacon kept Hermione company as she barged away from the path, bag in hand. Taking a walk had become a daily habit of theirs, one Draco looked forward to.

He watched her bend over for a moment in the underbrush a little ways away. After a moment of rustling, her voice called out, "Draco, can we stop here for a moment?"

A smile tugged at his mouth and he obliged it where no one could see, gently picking his way through the underbrush toward her. There was no doubt she'd found some useful potion ingredient growing there, like she usually did. His stores had rarely been so well-stocked before, thanks to her.

A month's dubious calm had passed since the Trial by Misericorde. True to the Trial's enchantments, Draco was obliged to allow his wounds to heal without the assistance of magic. This was a slow, tedious process that left him feeling just as painful as the day he'd sliced, a week after the fact. Hermione's poultices were indispensible in the healing process, though the constant applying of herbs and essences tried his patience.

He was to be saddled with eight neat scars and one long, lopsided one… all on top of a more expansive section of mottled flesh. It was really quite ugly, but Draco found he still preferred it to the tattoo that had indicated his allegiance to the Dark Lord.

The stark fact that the thick scar tissue resulting from him violently removing his own Dark Mark, had likely saved his life in the Trial, was not lost on Draco.

It was a warm day in early June. Draco's twenty-second birthday had passed only three days ago. Hermione had asked him what he wanted to do to celebrate and somehow had ended up on her back or bent over furniture in almost every room of his house.

"There's a ton of comfrey here," she informed him at his approach.

Hermione had kneeled down and begun harvesting the leafy herbs. Knowing she would be several minutes, Draco made himself comfortable on the grass nearby, joined by the dogs. If he listened hard, he could hear the sea in the distance. It felt oddly familiar somehow, but he couldn't place his finger on it.

After a moment of companionable silence between them, she spoke, "I talked to Harry today."

Rolling his eyes, Draco asked, "And what did Potter want?"

"Well, actually it's not something _Harry_ wants necessarily, but… well, you know his godson, Teddy Lupin, is raised by his grandmother, right?"

He was silent, watching her. Legend and Caliber had gotten comfortable near him, while the greyhounds were pacing.

"Well," she went on, taking his silence as invitation enough to continue, "his grandmother is your aunt, technically…"

"I know my own family tree," he snapped. He'd plucked a blade of grass and begun methodically shredding it just to have something to do with his hands.

"Well, Andromeda would like to meet you," she finished bluntly. "If you're willing, that is."

Draco stared. "Why in the hell would she want that?"

"I guess she thought maybe you'd have some things in common. Harry sees her all the time, I'm sure your name has come up on multiple occasions."

"'Some things in common'," he repeated slowly.

He didn't know much about the aunt he'd never met or even been encouraged to speak of; all he knew was that his mother's family had disowned her for marrying a Muggle-born wizard. Glancing quickly at Hermione, he realized he and his aunt probably _did_ have a few things in common…

"There's no pressure of course," Hermione continued tersely, misinterpreting his silence for displeasure. "I'm not even sure she expects you to agree to it."

"I'll think about it."

She nodded, deciding that was better than outright disapproval. "She's a good friend."

The topic of friendship was still a tender subject for Draco. Theo had been brought to St. Mungo's following his arrest, where his self-inflicted slices had been tended to and he was psychologically evaluated. In accordance with his agreement via the Trial, he made a full confession and even surrendered some of his more damning memories to the Aurors.

Deimos Lestrange had also been found guilty of his vile acts against nature and was brought to Azkaban once he was healthy enough to be transported. Perseus, meanwhile, was released initially on house arrest and eventually given his free life back. It was rumored he hadn't left his home since returning to it.

While Draco was glad Hermione was receiving some retribution for the murder of her parents, he felt like someone had stuck a knife in his gut and twisted. Theo had been someone he could trust without question – or so he'd thought – making his betrayal all the more painful.

Growing up, Draco had two best friends: Theodore Nott and Vincent Crabbe. Once at Hogwarts, Crabbe had introduced him to Gregory Goyle, while Theo had quickly become a recluse, preferring to spend much of his time in the library on his own. Following Crabbe's death, Draco and Goyle had fallen out of touch, to the relief of both. Draco had grown closer to Theo again, and to some extent, Marcus Flint. He and Flint had discontinued correspondence after Draco had stopped attending Pureblood Society meetings, and now Theo had completely broken faith with him.

With his family gone, that meant Draco's main tie now, was to Hermione. Realizing this, he privately reflected, _Fate is a cruel bitch._

"I know you've been putting off meeting my friends," Hermione interrupted his deep train of thought.

"With good reason."

She nodded, "I know, I agree. Even Harry agrees it was a good idea to lay low for a little while, considering the case is still going on and you needed time to recover."

It was the closest they had come to mentioning Theo that didn't involve Draco stalking away in anger. Hermione observed him carefully from the corner of her eye as she packed away the bushel of comfrey into her bag.

The forest was beginning to darken and the dogs were becoming impatient. Frogs were croaking in the gathering dusk and a light breeze rustled the treetops.

"I just don't want to mess it up," Draco said suddenly.

"Mess what up?" she blinked in confusion.

"Meeting your friends as... your boyfriend."

She frowned. "Surely you aren't having second thoughts?"

"Of course not," he scoffed testily. "It's just that they all know everything you went through with your parents was because of me. If it hadn't escaped your notice, they weren't my biggest fans to begin with. I'm sure this hasn't helped."

"My friends love me," Hermione assured him, "and I love _you_. It might be strange at first, but they're going to have to get used to you being in my life."

He was scowling now. "You heard the whispers at Abruzzese's."

She folded her arms and regarded him coolly, "I did."

"It's going to be that way for awhile, Hermione. Maybe forever."

He had discarded the blade of grass he'd been shredding and was now picking at the bandages still wrapped around his forearm. Eight of the cuts had healed, leaving behind thick, white scars all in an orderly row. The ninth, somewhere in the middle of them all, had been the deepest and the longest and had gotten a mild infection. It had to be tended carefully.

She placed her hand on his, and said sweetly, "If you don't stop messing with those bandages, I am going to have to hex you."

His hand fell away, less because of her threat than because he knew he shouldn't be bothering it if he wanted it to heal. "I just want to be sure you fully understand what you're getting yourself into with me."

 _I think I know you pretty well by now_ , she hinted, setting her bag full of comfrey aside and sliding over to sit beside him on the ground.

 _I'm serious, Hermione. I am never going to tell you how much I care about you every day, even though it's true. I'm going to bemoan your appearance or your horrible choice in clothing, even though you're beautiful. I'm occasionally going to insult your intelligence, even though we both know you're brilliant. I'm a bastard in all but birth._

"You've told me all that before…" she reminded him patiently, linking her arm through his. "I'm still here."

"But… _why_?"

She smiled, _I don't need to hear promises from you. I can feel them._

Leaning in to kiss him, he didn't respond to her at first until she wound her hands through his hair and pressed up against him. She wrapped her soul around him comfortingly, injecting a sense of need as well as desire into that embrace. He feasted on her readily and she enjoyed a very real sense of completion, hoping he could feel it too.

When they finally pulled away, she realized they must have been kissing longer than she'd thought as it was almost fully dark and they'd somehow ended up tangled around one another in the grass.

She giggled, "We should get back."

The dogs seemed ready to go, all waiting patiently for them. Standing, Hermione stretched and looked around, gathering her bag.

 _Will you come live here?_

She turned to stare at him. "What?"

 _I'm serious, you can bring that ugly cat of yours as early as tomorrow if you want._

"We haven't been together very long," she protested, still astounded. "This is fast."

 _I don't care. I'm selfish – I hate it when you leave, even just to go to work._

Amused, she smiled at him and reached out a hand to help him up. Pretending not to notice her gesture, he rose from his seated position on his own and brushed his clothes off. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too hard. I'm not very patient."

"Trust me, I know," she teased, leading the way back to the nearby path toward the house.

He pinched her rump and she exclaimed in surprise, whirling around on him to observe his widening smirk.

"You… you _arse_ , Draco."

"I'd like to remind you that I was raised to have impeccable manners," he drawled.

"Hmm... too bad I don't get to see those."

The house came into view, lit up from many of the windows and Hermione felt a very real sense of coming home. Privately, she reflected, _Would it really be so bad to live here?_

"I hope you're going to feel sorry for me that I'm still _wounded_ and my girlfriend won't even move in with me."

She snorted, refusing to give in to his guilt trip, "Mostly I just feel sorry for your left arm."

He snuck up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground. She squealed in surprise, dropping her bag. "That is going to cost you," he growled in her ear.

"You're not very scary."

Draco bit down on her collarbone, making her gasp. Trailing his mouth up her neck and onto the side of her jaw, she went limp with enjoyment. The dogs were collected by the front door, waiting for the humans to catch up.

 _Move in with me_ , he demanded, setting her back on the ground.

 _I said I would think about it…_

In one fluid motion, he'd knocked her knees out from under her and swept her up.

"Put me down!"

He kissed her again instead. _Not a chance._

She kicked out, but he was holding her tightly, smirking at her lame attempts to escape, made the more futile by the fact that she was trying not to upset her carefully placed bandages on his arm.

 _Please put me down?_ she tried.

He magicked the door open and the dogs poured in, in front of them. Kicking the door shut after them, Draco replied, _Can't do that, I'm afraid. I'm rather ravenous, as it turns out._

She was about to retort, when she caught sight of his face, which was widened into a suggestive leer. "Wh-What?"

He tried to look innocent, which was something he always failed miserably at. Placing her on the divan in the entry hall, he lowered himself to his knees and began kissing up her inner thigh, fingers running sensuously along the sensitive skin leading upward. Hermione shivered, closing her eyes.

Living with him would certainly have its benefits, she reflected privately as he began his ministrations. Especially when it resulted in his head buried between her legs, leading her steadily to nirvana.


	57. All the Mental Things

Author's Note: This chapter and the next are two parts of one larger scene that was much too unmanageable as one chapter. Now that I'm adrift at the airport for awhile, I can post them! I had a wonderful time at Harry Potter world. I _may_ also have purchased a Hogwarts scarf for all four houses... that's totally a fiscally responsible decision, right?

Huge thanks to all those who reviewed: Frogster, cmtaylor531, Calimocho, Chester99, K. E. Degz, Musicangel913, siewchee12345, annalyciareads, Sam Wallflower, jperks, and I was BOTWP. I hope you guys like these two chapters, too!

.

.

"Just please don't start anything."

Draco rolled his eyes, "You're doing it again, Hermione."

"I can't help it!"

"Yes, you can," he contradicted. "I have full faith in your abilities to filter your emotions. I am not going to start a fight with Weaselbee."

"Or Harry," she added quickly.

"How rude would I have to be to start an altercation with Potter in his own home?" he drawled. "Seriously, breathe."

Hermione was pacing the length of the entry hall at Woodhaven, wringing her hands. Crookshanks hopped up onto table beside her to butt his head against her arm reassuringly.

" _Off_ the table, demon feline," Draco demanded, making swatting motions at him. Crookshanks merely stared at him, refusing to budge. Muttering darkly, he cursed, "Bloody cats."

"What if it doesn't go well!" Hermione wailed.

Draco was worried about that too, though he was trying not to admit it to himself. Never had he thought he would have seen the day where he worried about Potter and Weasley's opinion of him – or if he was being truly honest, just Potter's opinion. He couldn't care less about Hermione's ex-boyfriend.

The case involving Theo and Lestrange had closed two weeks ago, removing Draco's last excuse for not socializing with Hermione's friends. Now late July, Hermione had been informed that everyone was going to celebrate both Potter's birthday and the completion of his and the Weaslette's home in Godric's Hollow. This was to take place at the aforementioned new house.

Hermione had _insisted_ Draco come with her.

He would have been happy to stay at home. Still, he got dressed into the most casual thing he owned (still dressier than what she wore), and was now mired in a painful Hermione meltdown.

"Just stop," he entreated her, swatting at Crookshanks again. This time, the cat did jump down but then proceeded to scratch at the carpet, all the while making eye contact with him. "Hermione, please tell your bloody cat to _stop ruining my house_!"

"You're the one that told me to bring him here," she reminded him.

"Yeah, but you were supposed to move in _with_ him."

"I haven't been to Grimmauld Place in over a week!"

"The only things you've brought over are the sorts of things you take on a trip and this _stupid_ cat," he bickered, examining the carpet critically for loosened fibers.

"I can certainly bring Crookshanks back to Grimmauld Place if you prefer," she sniffed. She was wearing a sleeveless red blouse over her jeans to combat the midsummer heat. Eyeing his black slacks and button-up critically, she added, "Do you seriously not own _any_ casual clothing?"

The sheer ridiculousness of their argument dawned on Draco at that moment and he smirked, which did nothing to assuage her temper. Calling on his best drawl, he pointedly leered at her chest and changed the subject, "You'd look much better _out_ of that top. It's hideous."

Hermione swatted him away using the same hand motion he had used to get Crookshanks off the end table, "We are _going_."

A few minutes later, they were arriving by Floo to Godric's Hollow and Draco's stomach had plummeted again.

"Remember," she hissed under her breath, "no…"

"…Picking a fight," he finished for her, grinding his teeth. "I got it. I hope you warned _them_ with this veracity, too."

A very pregnant Ginny met them by the entryway, her abdomen comically distended, belly button popped out. She was less than a month away from her due date and looked uncomfortable, sweating despite the Cooling Charms that had obviously been cast on the house.

"Ginny!"

"Hey, Hermione," she greeted. Her eyes glanced over to Draco, then back to her friend, "Just so you know, we _did_ warn Ron that you were bringing Malfoy. I think he's had enough time to cool down. We put him by the snacks to distract him."

"You gave him free reign of a food table?" Hermione gasped. "There won't be a thing left to eat!"

Draco snorted in amusement.

Ginny turned to him, eyeing him critically. "You know, I really thought you wouldn't be in the picture anymore at this point."

Smirking, Draco slipped his hand into Hermione's – a habit, he reflected, he'd surely picked up from her – and sarcastically responded, "No such luck, Weaslette. I'm touched at your concern, however."

"Is everyone else here already?" Hermione queried.

"Oh, yes. You're quite late," Ginny informed her.

Draco glowered; he hated being considered late.

"Draco, do _not_ glower," Hermione panicked, "it makes you look just like the evil twit I've been trying so hard to prove you're not."

He tried to look coolly unconcerned with her when he answered, "You do not dictate my facial expressions. You also cannot help that your imbecilic friends are going to think what they're going to think. Stop over-analyzing… I swear it's making your hair stand on end, not that you need it."

Ginny laughed, "You two are _just_ like you were at Hogwarts! Only now you've resolved all that latent sexual tension."

Flabbergasted, Hermione could only gape at her friend, while Draco snickered. In a move that startled both of them to no end, Ginny looped her arm through Draco's and insisted, "Walk the pregnant lady back to the sitting room, will you, Malfoy?"

He did it, albeit somewhat stiffly at being commandeered in that manner. _Is she going to hex me when my back is turned?_

 _She's being nice to you. That's good._

Ginny gave them a brief tour of the rooms they passed through, which included peeking into a playroom Harry had specially made for the upcoming addition to their family. It was mostly decorated in red and gold.

"Gryffindor colors," Draco observed in disgust, ducking back out quickly as if the mere contact might rub off on him.

"Obviously," Ginny responded with the air of one explaining something to a small child.

"Oh, it's wonderful, Ginny!" Hermione cooed.

 _Potter is so bloody typical._

 _Seriously, Draco… it's going to be a child of Harry's and Ginny's. Their families have both been Gryffindor for generations. Not unlike your family and Slytherin, I might add._

They were getting closer to the place where a plethora of noise issued and Draco steeled himself for the worst. Even though his arm was still looped through Ginny's, he could feel Hermione's presence wrapping itself reassuringly around his shoulders and that gave him some measure of comfort.

"Look who I found!" Ginny announced. She released Draco's arm and heaved herself into a rocking chair on the far side of the coffee table.

There were many welcoming cries of, "Hermione!" and one of "Sweet Merlin, have you _finally_ brought your man around?"

This last comment came from a very pretty blonde girl Draco didn't know. She seemed to be sitting on the lap of none other than Viktor Krum and was wearing a Holyhead Harpies team jersey. The young woman seemed friendly enough and leapt up lithely to introduce herself, "You must be Draco. I'm Siobhan. This is my fiancé, Viktor."

"Your fiancé!" Hermione exclaimed in shock, immediately taking stock of the enormous diamond glittering on Siobhan's ring finger. "Congratulations! Oh, Viktor, that's so wonderful. I'm so happy for you both."

"Thank you," Viktor replied, grinning rather stupidly.

"Nice to meet you," Draco affirmed politely, briefly taking Siobhan's offered hand. The blonde girl shot Hermione an interesting look Draco wasn't sure the meaning of. It didn't seem to be negative at least.

"I think we haff met before?" Viktor suggested, somewhat unsure of himself.

"I went to Hogwarts. I was in fourth year when the Triwizard took place," Draco reminded him.

"That must be it," Viktor decided, also shaking Draco's hand.

"I'm Toula," introduced a rather buxom brunette with a mass of teased curls piled onto her head. Turning to her friend, she emphasized, "What took you so long to bring him around?"

"Oh, this and that," Hermione responded vaguely.

"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged. He had approached to give Hermione a brotherly hug and looked for a moment like he might shake Draco's hand, but thought better of it.

"Potter," Draco acknowledged, "I hear we're to congratulate you that you've made it another year without kicking the bucket."

Harry decided this was a neutral enough comment to warrant a grin in response. "It's a good thing too, or Ginny would have brought me back from the dead just to kill me again."

"Oh, don't be so ridiculous, Harry," Ginny scoffed, fanning herself from the heat only she seemed to feel. "I would just give the baby to Mum to raise and then run off to the Maldives with all of your money to live the rest of my life in widowed tropical bliss."

There was a good deal of chuckling at this, meanwhile Gabrielle began doling out drinks from a collection Harry and Ginny had spread out. Deciding this made as good an opportunity as any to acknowledge Ron's girlfriend, Hermione approached the table to make introductions. "Hey, Ron! Gabrielle, so nice to see you. This is Draco. Draco, Gabrielle."

"Pleasure to meet you," Gabrielle said sweetly from beside Ron.

"Hey, 'Mione," Ron greeted somewhat absently. He was openly glaring at his former nemesis and leaving a path of destruction in his wake on the snack table.

After his timely capture of Deimos, Ron had been offered his old position back by Robards, along with the promise of having Harry as his partner once more. Ron was flattered, accepted the promotion, but declined being reassigned to Harry. For once, Ron thought it was nice to have his own measure of glory instead of being relegated to being Harry's sidekick… and as he explained to a thunderstruck Gawain Robards, he _liked_ working with Nicola Stidolph.

Draco was momentarily shocked that Weasley had been able to catch someone so aesthetically pleasing as the part-Veela, whose silvery-blonde hair was braided atop her head like an intricate crown. Still, he knew Hermione well, so it was a strategic comment that made him observe, _Let me guess… she's an idiot?_

 _It's hard to tell_ , Hermione vaguely answered. Draco thought that was too gracious of her, but also rather telling.

 _Definite downgrade from you, on Weasley's part. Worked out well for me though, so I'm not complaining._

Hermione's mouth twitched into a small smile and she cheerfully accepted an entire tumbler full of firewhiskey from Gabrielle.

Draco raised his eyebrows at her. _Starting off a tad heavy, aren't we?_

"I am going to need it to get through this," she answered. They didn't often go out and about around others together, so they weren't used to checking themselves about finishing conversations aloud that they'd started in their minds. Fortunately, this was only a minor slip.

Siobhan giggled and Toula observed, "You would think Hermione's a lightweight, but she can really pound her liquor."

Harry laughed, "I'll say. Remember the end of last summer?"

Most of those seated there shared knowing glances, while Hermione stuck her nose in the air and pretended to ignore them. Draco desperately wanted to know what they were referring to, but he didn't know enough about this group to know how to ask yet.

Turning to Krum and wishing to turn the conversation away from herself, Hermione asked, "How long are you in the country, Viktor?"

"I return in two days," he answered as Siobhan cast him a sparkling look. "It vas all the time I could take off from vork, but I thought I haff to secure my future."

"You've just missed Neville and Hannah, Hermione," Harry told her. "They could only stop by for an hour or so, because Hannah had to work. Neville's taking over for Sprout this year at Hogwarts. She retired at the end of last year, apparently."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed. "I'll have to owl him."

"He and Hannah have a place together over the Three Broomsticks," Gabrielle added, eyeing Ron pointedly. "She's working there now."

Ron didn't seem to get the hint. Draco watched this exchange with amusement, but scowled when he recalled his own failed attempt at getting Hermione to move in with him. It was a rare night that she didn't stay over, but the bulk of her things remained at Grimmauld Place, even now that Harry and Ginny had moved out. His attempts to talk to her about it always seemed to be answered with her changing the subject.

Ginny stared at Hermione's firewhiskey longingly and groaned, "You think I could just…? Maybe just one sip…?"

"No," Harry insisted, reaching over to move the bottle far out of his wife's reach.

"Being pregnant sucks," she sulked. "I am never doing this again. If you want another child, Harry, you can get some other woman up the duff with your demon sperm."

Most of the room laughed heartily at this concession. Draco even found himself smirking in amusement before he knew it. He and Hermione found a seat on the couch, where he slung an arm lazily over her shoulders, his slender fingers playing with one of her flyaway curls. He diverted himself by noticing from the corner of his eye, how Weasley tensed when Hermione leaned into his shoulder comfortably. Harry seemed to be looking away from this display of familiarity as well, though much less obviously.

"Being pregnant always sucks, Ginny," Siobhan teased matter-of-factly. "But in a month, it'll just be you, Harry, and this kid. Isn't that enough for you?"

Sipping her drink primly, Hermione casually remarked, "Trust me, I've turned into Harry with Polyjuice Potion before and he's got _more than enough_ for Ginny."

Harry's face and ears turned crimson at the blatant innuendo, especially coming from her.

Draco stared at Hermione like he'd never truly seen her before… was that really _his_ girlfriend making a lewd joke? His Gryffindor Princess making a bawdy penis-related comment? He was impressed.

" _Ew_ , Hermione!" Ron wailed, forgetting to glower at Draco in favor of this new distraction.

"You are _so_ right," Ginny agreed. "I have _no_ complaints in that department."

Ron gaped at his sister, his eyes darkened with horror. Gabrielle giggled, a sound like musical bells tinkling.

"What were you doing looking in my pants, Hermione?" Harry demanded, becoming even redder, if it were possible.

"I'm not sorry for making you uncomfortable, Ronald," Hermione informed the redhead primly, ignoring Harry. "Anyway, you turned into Harry too, so you should know."

"Wait," Draco demanded, "you used Polyjuice to turn into Potter? Why?"

Hermione ignored him, too.

"You'd better watch out, Draco, I'm not sure you fully appreciate what you've gotten yourself into with Hermione," Toula laughed.

"For real," Ginny agreed, gratefully accepting a soda with maraschino cherries from Gabrielle, "Hermione is _ruthless."_

" _What?_ " Hermione cried at this double-cross.

"Okay, let's play a game called remember-all-of-the-mental-things-Hermione-has-done-over-the-years," Harry began, still crimson and clearly intent on revenge.

"Harry James Potter," she scolded, "you had better not…"

"Revenge, Hermione," he reprimanded her, emerald eyes flashing in mock-battle. "I will begin by bringing up the time you used a Confundus on McClaggen at Quidditch try-outs _while he was flying_ … which by the way is incredibly dangerous."

"Oh, I love this game," Ginny commented dreamily, picking a maraschino cherry out of her drink with one finger as the glass rested on her swollen belly. "Remember when she convinced Harry to start a Hogwarts insurrection?"

"How about when she set Snape on fire _on purpose_ as an Ickle Firstie!" Ron cackled, clearly enjoying himself now for the first time since he'd arrived and been told his ex was bringing her new boyfriend.

"Let's not forget that she also put a Full Body Bind on Neville in first year, too," Harry added. He was grinning widely at Hermione's look of betrayal and Draco's expression of growing delight. "All because he tried to stop us leaving Gryffindor Tower at night to break into that trapdoor Fluffy was guarding."

 _Who's Fluffy?_ Draco wanted to know.

Hermione only groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"Or how about the time you cursed Marietta Edgcomb for not holding up under pressure and permanently disfigured her face?" added Ginny with glee, biting down on the cherry she'd fished from her drink. "That was one of my favorites."

"Didn't she punch _you_ in the face?" Siobhan queried, rounding on Draco with sparkling eyes.

"She did," Draco confirmed, glancing sidelong at his witch.

Ron smiled widely at the memory, "I am _so_ glad you revived that memory, Siobhan. It was one of Hermione's finest moments." He pulled his arm back and mimed landing a mean right hook into his other hand.

Ginny observed Ron with a nasty expression as she pulled the cherry stem from between her teeth. "Funny how times change, isn't it, Ron? Now it's Malfoy that's pounding Hermione."

Both Ron and Harry groaned in agony at this image and buried their faces in their hands. Viktor began to shift uncomfortably where he sat, glancing surreptitiously at Hermione, while both Siobhan and Toula began laughing uproariously.

Hermione slumped in her seat, red to the roots of her hair. "Ginny, you are _not_ to bring up aspects of my bedroom habits as punishment when Ronald says something rude!"

Draco, meanwhile, resembled the cat that had got the canary.

Once she'd got her mirth under control, Toula coughed out, "Remember… ha ha ha… remember when you agreed to meet that shady wizard? The one who told you he was trading consumer-grade doxy eggs, when he was really illegally transporting a nundu?"

Hermione choked on her firewhiskey. "Surely we aren't _still_ doing this!"

"I don't know that one…" Harry admitted, looking interested.

"Oh yes," Toula continued, her eyes wide with the memory, "she accidentally managed to say the _exact right_ words to him that began a secret transfer of a Class XXXXX dangerous creature. So she was stuck with trying to find equally sketchy methods of getting rid of it…"

"Merlin, Hermione," Ron breathed out, having partially recovered from the mental image foisted upon him by his sister. "I didn't know you did that."

Mostly silent up until that moment, Viktor spoke up, "I had no idea you vere involved in so many troubles, Herm-own-ninny…"

Nodding vigorously, Harry added, "Let's not forget when Hermione kept a reporter sealed in a jar for several months…"

"Ooh, speaking of that, did you see the article Rita Skeeter published about you two last month?" Siobhan questioned eagerly. "She's been oddly quiet since then…"

"Oh, yes," Hermione answered brightly. "I got her sacked."

"You _what_?" Toula demanded, her head swiveling around like an owl's.

"Please tell me you aren't lying," Draco pleaded. _That would be by far the most Slytherin thing you've ever done._

"I'm afraid Rita won't be reporting anything for some time. I finally spilled the beans about her being an Animagus. She really had it coming." Hermione knocked back the remains of her firewhiskey. "She's currently doing a stint in Azkaban."

"Wow, Hermione," Toula breathed. "I had no idea."

 _I find your Slytherin streak to be unbearably sexy_ , Draco purred.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, _Well,_ _I suppose it is you we're talking about…_

"Remember when you accidentally turned yourself into a cat?" Ron queried, not willing to give up the game. "You had a _tail_ , 'Mione." Ron was laughing so hard at the memory that he was clutching his sides. Gabrielle looked almost ashamed of his mirth and was quietly sipping a butterbeer.

"Ronald Weasley, I am going to give you something _much_ worse than a tail if you don't shut your mouth," Hermione threatened.

Gabrielle's eyes widened like she wasn't sure if she should be taking Hermione seriously or not.

Then, rounding on Harry, who had started the whole thing, Hermione demanded, "I hate this game. What did I ever do to you, Harry?"

"You got _stoned_ at my wedding!" Harry complained emphatically.

"She _what_?" Draco demanded, eyeing his girlfriend with an entirely new kind of glee, making his silver eyes shine.

"Oh yeah, stoned Hermione is _funny_ ," Ginny professed, giggling at the memory. Turning to her friend, she suggested, "You should do that again, but with me next time."

"This little shindig isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be," Draco remarked, beginning to wind one of his girlfriend's curls around his finger. "I am getting so much dirt on you."

"That's just the surface," Harry informed him. "You'd never know it to look at her innocent exterior, but Hermione's kind of a rule-breaker."

"I'd still like to see her punch you in the face again, Malfoy," Ron informed him snidely, crossing his arms and refusing to let the amusing image go. "It might help rearrange a few things, perhaps for the better."

"Nice insult, Weasley, you must have purchased it at the thrift store," Draco sneered. "Even still, that's pretty rich coming from a person who looks like their face caught fire and someone tried to put it out with a hammer."

" _Bam_!" Ginny cackled, slamming her hand down on the table for emphasis. "You need some burn cream for that, Ron?"

"Draco," Hermione warned, shoving at his arm. _Be nice._

 _Weasley started it._

 _You are such a petulant child, I swear…_

 _Whatever, stoner._

Hermione gaped at him in horror. _It was one time!_

"Er, anyone up for a game of backyard Quidditch?" Harry suggested, stifling his own laugh at the expression on Ron's face.

"Do you haff enough brooms?" Viktor wanted to know, his interest naturally piqued.

"Quidditch would be a lovely idea," Siobhan agreed, running her fingers through Viktor's hair. He kissed her nose and she returned the gesture.

"Ugh, you two are so cute it makes me want to be violently ill all over the alcohol, just to spite you," Ginny vowed. "Who's in? We have six brooms."

"Obviously not you, unless you're volunteering to be the Quaffle," Siobhan teased. "I don't suppose _you're_ any good on a broom, Draco?"

"He is, actually. I've played against him," Harry spoke up. Turning to Draco, he said, "Up to you."

"Sure," he shrugged.

"Is this a good idea after we've all been _drinking_?" Hermione pressed.

"Obviously," Ginny scoffed, trying to make herself more comfortable in her seat and failing miserably. "Best way to play backyard Quidditch is slightly drunk, everyone knows that. Besides, it's not like anyone is going to ask you to participate. You hate flying, in part because you're rubbish at it."

Hermione didn't bother to look affronted, as this was common knowledge.

"Why are you inviting _him_?" Ron blurted before he could help himself. To his credit, he looked immediately ashamed that he'd say anything out loud.

Ginny rolled her eyes and answered before anyone else could, "Godric, Ron, you lower the quality of every conversation you come into contact with. Stop making it awkward by being stupid."

Ron had the good graces not to respond anything other than, "Sorry."


	58. Harry's Gift

Author's Note: If you've just got a notification for an update and you're starting with this chapter... GO BACK! There's one ahead of this one and I've just uploaded them both at the same time!

.

.

The nine of them trudged outdoors where an expanse of lawn stretched backward into a grassy field. Hermione magicked three chairs for herself, Ginny, and Toula so they could watch the game from afar. The six figures of Harry, Ron, Draco, Gabrielle, Viktor and Siobhan retreated into the field, each with a broomstick slung over their shoulders. She couldn't make out the words they were shouting at one another, but they all seemed good-natured and high-spirited so she tried not to worry.

"You know, I hate to admit it," Ginny said, "but Malfoy is alright. He fills a space I wasn't aware existed in this group."

"A little snark goes a long way," Toula agreed, swirling her drink idly.

"I'm so relieved," Hermione conceded, letting out a huge gust of a breath. "Really, you have no idea how glad I am everyone is trying to accept him. He and I… we disagree about _everything_. But at least he hears me out before telling me he thinks it's bollocks. I just… I can't help myself around him."

"Just promise me you'll let me come visit that dreamy Italian villa of his," Toula pleaded. Hermione laughed.

A few shouts erupted from the field, where Viktor had caught the Snitch in record time. Siobhan seemed to be begging him to release it again, which he did. The six figures whirled around in the sky once more, Ron and Gabrielle passing the Quaffle like two people who shared a mind.

"Actually, Hermione – don't be offended – but I'm glad you're not with my brother anymore," Ginny informed her suddenly.

She raised her eyebrows, "Why should I be offended by that?"

"I dunno. It's just, I think you and Ron are _both_ happier this way. Plus you got out before things went sour. You can actually be friends now."

"I would have missed his friendship," Hermione granted.

"He and Gabrielle are good together," Toula remarked. "Not to mention you're good with Draco."

"Much as I never expected Malfoy to hang around, it seems he has. I suppose I'll have to get used to him."

"Yes, you will," Hermione agreed stoutly. "I think he's _it_ for me."

Toula squealed a little at this admission, while Ginny rolled her eyes but smiled in exasperation nonetheless.

The girls watched the mock game for awhile longer. Eventually, Viktor captured the Snitch again and six broomsticks landed. It was beginning to grow dark, so they were all heading back and seemed to be laughing.

"…Yeah, well, you're welcome for that, Malfoy, you slimeball," Ron was jibing, in high spirits.

"You're a tosser, Weasley," Draco answered flatly, though Hermione could sense amusement rolling off of him all the same.

When Ron laughed instead of trying to come up with an off-the-cuff insult, Hermione knew everything was going to be all right. Draco approached her, broom over his shoulder, and kissed her quickly. Siobhan wolf-whistled from the broom shed.

 _I've made nice with Weasley._

 _I see that_ , she approved. _I'm honestly shocked._

 _You Gryffindors are so… accepting. You'd be eaten alive in Slytherin._

After depositing his borrowed broom in the shed, Draco allowed Hermione to slip her hand in his as they made their way back toward the house with the others.

"Malfoy? A word?" They both turned around to see Harry, standing alone by the broom shed.

 _Is he going to hex me?_

 _Whatever happened to Gryffindors being eaten alive by Slytherins?_

Draco glowered at her, but walked back toward Potter anyway. Harry waited until everyone had gone inside and the door had shut behind his guests, Hermione disappearing last and casting a lingering look at the two of them. Night had crept across the horizon, only a faint glimmer remaining as a last reminder that day had been there only recently.

Without preamble, Harry turned to his former rival and asked, "I have to know: why didn't you try to revenge yourself on Nott?"

Draco winced; he'd wondered when that particular skeleton was going to be dragged from the closet, but he'd hoped it wouldn't be so soon.

He hadn't revealed Theo's romantic feelings for him in court; it seemed Theo hadn't, either. In fact, Draco hadn't told Theo's confession to anyone – including Hermione – in part out of embarrassment. The other part was, Draco figured the Nott heir was going to have a difficult enough time in prison as it was… and they _had_ been friends, for _decades_. That sort of thing was hard to put aside, even if the friend in question had been revealed to be a dangerous sociopath who wanted to have sex with you and would do anything to get it, including murdering your mother, your fiancée, and your new girlfriend's parents.

Draco didn't want to tell Harry that. Hermione, someday, maybe… but certainly not Harry Potter.

Moistening his lips to stall for a split-second of time, Draco settled on a partial truth, "Hermione seems to care a great deal about the state of my soul."

Harry folded his arms, observing the pale blond with searching green eyes. "I have been wondering why you cursed Deimos Lestrange, but not Theodore Nott. With a Sectumsempra no less."

"Thanks for hushing that up, by the way, Potter," Draco smirked, leaning casually against the broom shed in feigned nonchalance.

Harry raised an eyebrow in shock, "How did you know that was me?"

"Lucky guess."

"I didn't get punished for using it on you in sixth year, even though I should have," he reasoned. "Besides, I heard what Deimos did and what he was planning. If I was in your position, I'd likely have hexed him too. In the end, there was no real harm done."

Draco noticed Potter was rambling, so he remained silent, waiting. Surely this wasn't the sole reason the Boy Wonder had asked him to remain behind.

Harry probed, "I'd have wanted revenge on Nott, if it were me."

"Stars," Draco cursed, annoyed now, "if you're trying to get me to admit I'd like to crush my former best friend under the heel of my shoe – yes, Potter, I _would_. Now imagine you'd just found out Weasley had murdered everyone you got close to and try to understand why I won't do it. Besides, as I told you, Hermione cares far too much about that sort of thing."

"And _you_ care for _Hermione_?" Harry quizzed. He said it as more of a statement, but there was still an inflection in his words that allowed for Draco to disprove it.

"Enough to restrain myself from using the _Avada_ on the man who killed my mother and fiancée, apparently," Draco sneered, growing tired of the conversation and wishing to return to Hermione. Or better yet, _home_ with Hermione. She seemed to be giving him space however, as her mind was withdrawn from his, though still vaguely present in his subconscious.

Harry nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek absently.

"Is that all, Potter?"

Harry's attention snapped back. "Actually, no. I have something for you."

Draco was intrigued.

"Ginny knows I have it, but no one else," Harry told him, stretching out his hand to drop something in Draco's.

Draco stared at the small, octagonal stone that fell into his outstretched palm. It seemed to be made of polished obsidian, but had a large fissure that ran the length of it. "What is it?"

"It's the Resurrection Stone."

"The…?"

"One of the Deathly Hallows," Harry explained.

"The Deathly what?"

"Have you ever heard of the Tale of Three Brothers?"

Draco shrugged, "My Mother used to tell me that story when I was young."

"The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, the Invisibility Cloak…" Harry related coolly. "Those are the Deathly Hallows. They helped save me from Voldemort."

"They're _real_?" Draco gaped. Harry only nodded once, his eyes still rooted on Draco's face. "And _this_ is the Stone?"

"Yes. You turn it in your palm three times and you can speak to the dead – or at least, to those people you were once close to that have passed. It's only a... a shadow that returns, but it allows you to converse with them for a short time," Harry elucidated. "They don't really belong in this world, so the time you have to speak with them is short. Still, it might help to give you a sense of closure."

Draco stared at Harry, his hand still open where the Stone was resting innocuously in the middle of his palm.

"I'm _lending_ it to you," Harry clarified. "I want it back when you're done with it. Preferably sooner rather than later."

"Bloody hell, Potter," Draco breathed out in awe, glancing down at the legendary thing he'd just been handed, "why are you giving me this?"

Harry began to chew the inside of his cheek again, "I'm not really sure. Don't make me regret it. I haven't even told Hermione I still have it. I'm going to ask you not to tell her either."

Draco's head snapped back up and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why?"

"Because I told her that I dropped it in the Forbidden Forest when I went there to let Voldemort kill me. That was what I told everyone."

Draco's hand clenched around the tiny stone, "Someday, Potter, I'd like to hear that whole tale."

"It's a pretty long story. Not one I have time for today." Harry looked pointedly at Draco when he continued, "None of that would have been able to turn out the way it did without Hermione. There were so many small pieces that had to happen _just_ _right_ in order for things to fall into place. Hermione was essential to this. I'm telling you this so you know how important she is to me."

Draco closed his eyes, hearing the not-so-subtle implication in the voice of his former rival, "I'm not the same man I was, Potter."

"No," Harry conceded, crossing his arms over his chest. "You couldn't be to be with Hermione in the first place. You seem to make her happy and she's asked me to give you a second chance. You're not even _so bad_ , I suppose. But hear me when I say to you: don't mess with that girl."

Draco gazed out at the warm light coming from the windows of the house nearby, wondering just how to word what he wanted to say. He settled on, "I cherish her. Not in the same way you care for your wife, but in my own way. You may not always understand it, but you will see that it's genuine."

The words seemed to be good enough for Harry, who hadn't really expected the other man to make a speech. "Well, you'll take some getting used to... but I'll try."

Draco shot Harry a wry half-smile, slipped the precious stone into his pocket, then stuck out his hand. It was the same gesture he'd offered Harry that first day at Hogwarts. "You're still an annoying prat, Potter."

"You're still an arrogant git, Malfoy," Harry answered, clasping the other man's hand in a too-firm handshake, but with a smile on his face.

When Draco returned inside with Harry, Hermione's head swiveled around to gauge his expression. He did not seem perturbed, and Harry jumped right into a drinking game with Ron and Viktor, so she deemed she did not need to worry.

 _Would you like to go home?_ she queried softly, having a feeling he might.

With the air of one who has long been suffering, Draco answered, _I thought you'd never ask._


	59. Old Ways and New

Author's Note: Hi, lovelies! We're approaching the end. I now have a better idea of what it will take to tie this story off properly and it appears we're looking at between 62-65 chapters when all is said and done... in other words, we're very close!

I'd like to thank everyone for their continued support. It truly amazes me how wonderful you all are for leaving me your thoughts and reactions... specifically thank you to: Sassystarbuck09, Musicangel913, Frogster, I was BOTWP, Chester99, Sam Wallflower, OgaxHilda, jperks, 4fanci, annalyciareads, Nellaus, the Guest reviewer, siewchee12345, Calimocho, and K. E. Degz!

.

.

Letters had started arriving weeks ago, but Draco allowed several of them to remain unopened. Of those he did unseal, it was a rare bit of parchment he actually finished reading to the end, and many of these were immediately discarded into the fire. There had only been a single one in almost twenty he'd responded to:

 _Draco-  
_ _There have been a lot of rumors surrounding you in the last few months.  
_ _One doesn't know what to believe.  
_ _Would you consent to meeting at Flint Lodge on Thursday evening?  
_ _I will swear your safety by the serpent's mouth.  
_ _You've been absent too long.  
_ _-Marcus_

Draco folded the letter and stuck it back in his pocket. He had agreed to go only yesterday, but he'd re-read the invitation many, many times to be _absolutely_ sure of the wording. The parchment was beginning to grow worn on the creases and the wax of the seal was chipping off in places.

The simple reason he'd agreed to meet Marcus Flint while he'd refused even to read or respond to many of the other purebloods was the simple presence of that third-last line: ' _I will swear your safety by the serpent's mouth_.' This was an archaic phrase – originated by Salazar Slytherin – used for centuries by some purebloods to promise a visitor that their foray into a private home wasn't offered with sinister intent.

He had received several correspondences each from the Bulstrodes, the Burkes, the Fawleys, and the Parkinsons. Flint had written three times over the course of the past few months. Draco suspected they'd been writing to Malfoy Manor for some time before realizing he wasn't living there any longer. Cassandra Fawley's letters in particular, seemed annoyed that he'd been ignoring her.

A single letter from Arkesh Shafiq was thrown directly into the fire without being opened. This turned out to be a wise idea on Draco's part, as the parchment bust into purple and green flames, exploding violently a moment after. It was a likely deduction that Shafiq had mailed him a doozy of a curse.

 _I will swear your safety by the serpent's mouth._

Now that was another story altogether.

When Draco told Hermione where he was going, her eyebrows had knitted together in concern. "I didn't think you were friendly with Flint?"

"On the contrary, Marcus is one of the few purebloods I have generally been on good terms with. He wants to meet me and has ensured my safety in his home." She looked like she was going to argue, so Draco put a hand up to stop her before she could really get going. "I am going."

Closing her mouth, Hermione shook her head. "I wish you weren't so stubborn."

 _You wouldn't love me half so well if I wasn't._

Hermione scowled at him, but Draco knew it was true. Pulling her into him, his hands threaded into her hair and his tongue slipped along the seam of her lips, parting them to allow him entry. He kissed her deeply and for several minutes. She was quite distracted when he was finished, and sufficiently dazed that he was able to grin at her and grab his wand to depart.

 _You aren't going to shut me out, are you?_ she wanted to know.

Draco was disconcerted to hear a note of panic in her voice. _I promised I never would do that again._

 _I know._

 _Malfoys don't make idle promises, especially not long-term ones,_ he informed her patiently. _Short-term agreements like the allocation of funds, sure. Perhaps an agreement not to pick a fight with Weasley during a social gathering… that sort of thing._

 _But…_

 _I don't make many promises, but I do keep them, Hermione. You are welcome to my thoughts during this visit. I will not try to hide them from you._

She seemed appeased and he kissed her again, slowly dismantling her fears.

That was how Draco found himself willingly taking the Floo to Flint Lodge on a Thursday evening in early August. As he stepped from the fireplace, he was confronted with the enormous window that made up the main of the wall in the entrance hall. Flint Lodge was nearly as ancient as Malfoy Manor, set far back into the misty moors of the north of England. The world here was made of weather-beaten rock structures jutting violently from the earth, sparse grasses and beautiful purple heather spreading over the hilly landscape. The large window opened onto a view of all of this, showcasing nature's rough allure.

The Flint estate was decorated with simple taste, unusual for a pureblood family. Heirlooms were not so much displayed as merely visible, a natural part of the room. The Flints had always been respectable and had never felt the need to prove this to anyone.

"Malfoy."

He turned slowly to be met by Marcus Flint, tall and muscular as ever Draco remembered him. Still the same sallow skin and crooked teeth, the same coarse dark hair and shifting eyes. "Flint."

"I'm shocked you showed."

"So am I," Draco admitted.

Flint smiled, an act that always made him look remarkably shark-like, no matter his real intentions. "I meant what I wrote: I swear your safety by the serpent's mouth."

"That," Draco informed him, "is the only reason I came."

"I had a feeling," Flint answered shrewdly. "Come on, the others are waiting."

Feeling his stomach drop, Draco repeated, "Others?"

"You'll see."

Draco was led into a low-ceilinged drawing room, decorated mainly in caliginous colors. The woodwork of the walls was dark, the high-backed seats made of a dark green material. Much of the light came from a roaring hearth that seemed to exist mostly for effect as there was no need for additional heat in early August. The room remained quite cool, confirming this.

There were five people already inside, scattered around the room in seats with varying degrees of visibility. Draco immediately went on his guard.

 _Everything alright?_ Hermione queried nervously, feeling his mounting tension.

He cursed himself for projecting his nervousness and making her worry. _So far._

"Malfoy, welcome," Jacen Bulstrode greeted, remaining seated. The man seemed on edge, like he was worried Draco might bolt at any sudden movement like a started colt.

"When you agreed to meet me, I knew I wasn't the only one with… curiosity," Flint explained, gesturing for Draco to take a seat. "My apologies. Everyone present is ready to vow their intent toward your safety while in this room, if you wish for additional precaution."

Draco took stock of those present before answering: Jacen Bulstrode, Cassandra Fawley, Iris Parkinson, plus both Edward and Elizabeth Burke. In other words, no one representing the families he was most concerned about, violence-wise. All of the people before him had tried to reach out to him and none had sent him a cursed envelope.

"Not necessary," Draco replied curtly, making a show of confidently sitting. This was still a dangerous dance. He was determined not to miss or fumble a single step.

Flint also took a seat and for a moment, silence reigned around the room. No one seemed to know how to begin the conversation. Cassandra Fawley was twisting a bit of her long grey-blonde hair in her fingers while Iris Parkinson, who was Pansy's mother, was gazing at her fingernails in apparent interest.

It was Burke who finally broke the awkward silence with, "It's been many months, Mr. Malfoy. We were wondering – forgive me – if we would _ever_ see you again. One does hear some things…"

Noting that the man had reverted to the same oily voice he often used for those perusing his shop in Knockturn Alley, Draco answered bluntly, "It was difficult to determine whom I could trust."

Elizabeth Burke nodded vigorously, her lovely face the picture of concern. " _Such_ a scandal. We heard all about Nott taking over the Lestranges with the Imperius. I don't know when I've ever heard of such an awful thing before: twisting another's latent blood grudge to suit one's own needs. Not that _you_ were to blame for it, of course."

Cassandra Fawley asked the question she seemed to be bursting with, "Is it true you challenged Theodore Nott to Trial by Misericorde?"

Draco resisted the urge to shudder, his forearm itching in remembrance. It had been nearly two months ago, but the wounds were deep and slow to heal without the aid of magic. He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm to answer her question. Eight of the marks were white as smoke, puckering his pale skin. The ninth, where his hand had slipped, was still a dull red in places, veering off to the side of his arm.

"Nine," Burke breathed. He was obviously impressed as his dark eyes were glittering strangely. "So many."

"Your Mark?" barked Flint. His family had supported many of the Dark Lord's ideals but refused to take the Mark even under torture, resulting in several deaths.

"I removed it," Draco answered as if this were the most natural thing in the world. He rolled his sleeve back down, hating to look at the long cuts put there by the misericorde.

Silence again. The other purebloods were looking at Draco with a new interest. Burke seemed fascinated by him, while his wife looked similar to the way Narcissa always had when she'd wanted to pull Draco into a hug, but refrained from doing so because they were in public. Cassandra looked like she'd found a new respect for him, while Flint seemed as though Draco had satisfied some unspoken requirement. Jacen and Iris remained guarded, scrutinizing him from behind reserved expressions.

Still surveying him carefully, Cassandra broke the lull in conversation. "Word has been bandied about that you've taken a Muggleborn lover."

Draco knew how important blood was amongst this group... how important blood had been to _him_ for over two decades. The stark truth was, Hermione was the daughter of non-magical people. Regardless of how Draco felt about her, this collection of people were always going to think of her that way, as undeserving of him.

He could have tried to explain that Hermione's blood boasted traces of the same celestial being that he, himself, contained. He could have attempted to convey that she was more than good enough for him, and that their exclusive connection transcended Draco's preconceived notions of the importance of heritage.

...He couldn't. It felt too personal to reveal such a thing. It also felt too much like making an excuse for his being with her, which he had no desire to do.

Knowing all their eyes were watching him for a reaction, Draco calmly responded, "You must be referring to my girlfriend."

Iris sucked in a breath, the first indication she'd given thusfar that she was emotionally invested in this conversation at all. "A Malfoy and a Mudblood… if Lucius were alive…"

"I would still be dating her," Draco interrupted coldly before she could finish whatever she'd meant to say. He had no idea if it was true, but he said it anyway. Relaxing his hands on the arms of his high-backed chair, he willed himself to remain calm as he'd always been trained to do. Lucius, at least, could be proud of him for his comportment.

Flint seemed almost too intrigued by the subject when he prompted, "Is it who I've heard it is?"

Raising an eyebrow, Draco drawled, "That would depend on what you've heard."

"Granger!" Flint burst, like he'd been waiting all along to say this. "The Mudblood Gryffindor? The brains of the _Golden Trio_?"

Draco idly wondered what Hermione would think of herself being described thus. He supposed she likely wouldn't have been surprised, although she would probably make the face she often did when she was displeased with something but trying not to show it. Her nose always scrunched adorably when she did that, though Draco would never have told her so. "Seems you've heard correctly."

Flint's eyes seemed like they were going to pop out of his head. Instead of allowing time for Marcus to speak and offend the Malfoy heir, Elizabeth quizzed, "Is it serious?"

"Very," Draco divulged, grey eyes flashing as he dared anyone to suggest he make it otherwise. "Once my two year courting hiatus is up, I plan to declare honorable intention."

Iris Parkinson looked like she might be ill at his words, but both Burkes looked rather intrigued. Jacen Bulstrode knowledgeably remarked, "If she isn't pureblood, she's not bound to those traditions."

"But I am," Draco answered simply. "I would like to keep the old ways."

"You can hardly commit to a Sanctus Pur with a Muggleborn," Cassandra pointed out. "The female half of such a binding would _have_ to be pureblood. She has no estate to add to yours, no way to make a blood oath…"

Shrewdly, Burke mentioned, "Mr. Malfoy knows this already, Fawley."

Cassandra quivered with a mixture of inscrutable emotions, her long hair shielding much of her expression.

Edward Burke's face slowly turned from the quaking woman to the rest of the room and he continued, "It seems to me that Mr. Malfoy was raised with all the traditions and grace benefitting one of his station. It was a moment's decision to invoke Trial by Misericorde. He agreed to this meeting only once his safety was promised _by the serpent's mouth_. He is aware of the stipulations surrounding Sanctus Pur… but perhaps he has something else in mind when it comes to courting. A tradition not seen in over a hundred years, perhaps?" Burke turned to face Draco now, his eyes burning with the suggestion, "Pura Consors?"*

Draco only nodded once.

"Ingenious," Elizabeth murmured. "A traditional binding ceremony that doesn't require pure blood."

"It's a travesty of a tradition to do it that way," Iris interjected. "To treat a Mudblood like… like an equal!"

"But to Mr. Malfoy, she _is_ an equal," Burke replied softly, to general shock. Even Elizabeth glanced at her husband in surprise at his words.

Draco merely nodded at the shopkeeper to show his gratitude for his words. "Hermione would honor me accepting a Pura Consors. But as I said before, I am still constrained for another thirteen months against such an action. You will hear of no announcement from me any time soon."

Flint's nose wrinkled and he sneered, but remained silent. This was progress in its own right, Draco thought.

 _Everything still okay?_ Hermione queried nervously. She was trying to stay out of the conversation to give him privacy, but it seemed she couldn't help popping in every so often to check on him like a clucking mother hen.

 _We're all still alive_ , Draco confirmed with a hint of amusement. _It seems likely it will remain that way._

"You are not your Father, Draco," Burke observed, gazing over his connected fingertips at the pale young man before him. "Nor are you the same newly-Marked teenager that threatened me in my shop years ago."

Draco snorted derisively, "I should hope not."

Most of those seated there were watching him still. Draco felt he'd been performing the dance admirably, as none had thusfar tried to oppose him. Flint was even beginning to look resigned to Draco's choices, like he might eventually get over them.

Burke looked thoughtful as he declared, "I have long thought it was a shame so many of the old traditions have died out through disuse. Yet, there needs to be _some_ revision, or we become a stagnant people on the brink of extinction. I think you are smart to introduce an outcross into your line. It would be my honor to continue associating with you and yours."

Flint was observing Draco in a new light, like this thought had never occurred to him before and perhaps Draco was smarter than he'd initially given him credit for.

 _An outcross_ , Draco repeated privately, astounded at Burke's ignorance, _like the breeding of dogs._

The idea that he was involved with Hermione to eventually introduce new genetic material into his family line in order to keep it healthy, disgusted him. Still, Draco was not about to break the offered olive branch simply because it smelled a bit funny. Besides, associating with someone like Edward Burke certainly had its uses…

"Excellent," Draco accepted. "There are a _great_ many artifacts and poisons at the Manor I would like to sell you, Burke." The shopkeeper's eyes brightened at the prospect of new acquisitions of the kind Draco was hinting at. "I'll give you a fantastic deal on them to remove them from my sight for good."

.

.

* _Pura Consors_ was briefly mentioned in Chapter 23, in case anyone is interested in revisiting that.


	60. Tolerance and Convictions

Author's Note: Hi everyone, I'm sorry it's been almost a full week since my last update... I've been a bit of a wreck. If anyone has ever glanced at my profile, you know I'm involved in wildlife rehab for birds of prey. Our barn owl, Silo, passed away on Saturday and she was really special to me. She was the one who taught me how to handle predatory birds back when I was sixteen (that was ten years ago now) and we had a very special bond. She'd been raised by a zoo in San Diego to fly for their public shows and our rehab center took her in when the zoo shut down. She was seventeen (which is awesome, since they live to be about four in the wild), so it wasn't entirely unexpected, but I'm still pretty down... please don't hesitate to let me know if you notice any errors in this chapter, as I was somewhat distracted while writing it.

In any case, here is a _super_ long Chapter 60 (though I'm still not sure how we got this far) and I'd like to give a huge thanks to those who reviewed: I was BOTWP, 4fanci, jperks, romancenerd7878, sparklemilk, Sam Wallflower, Kou Shun'u, siewchee12345, Iseult, Chester99, IGOTEAMEDWARD, and the Guest reviewer. Your feedback is so appreciated!

Also, if anyone is opposed to reading lemons, you may skip the entire first section and proceed directly to the second without any plot retribution. The lemony fluff at the beginning is for Sam Wallflower. :)

.

.

"Are you going to stare at me until morning, or do you intend to say something?" Hermione murmured, one espresso-colored eye cracking open.

Draco blinked at her. "Caught me."

Through her one open eye, Hermione noted the way the moonlight streamed in through the open window of their bedroom and lent a pale glow to Draco's skin. Contentedly, she sighed a little, closing her eyes again to nestle in closer to him. "Go back to sleep… it's still dark out and I'm tired."

"Absolutely not, now that you're awake," he whispered, so close she could feel his breath tickling the sensitive skin of her ear.

He leaned in to kiss along her collarbone, her body's satisfaction at his touch evident as she lightly pressed herself against him. Draco responded by grinding his hips down against her. A tiny noise of surprise squeaked from her at the feel of his growing erection pressing against her abdomen.

"Draco," she reprimanded. "I'm trying to sleep..."

 _Let me help you sleep._

Shifting his weight to his knees, Draco lifted her nightshirt over her head, exposing her chest to him. He gazed down at her from above and used the pad of his thumb to trace along the swell of her breast.

 _You have a beautiful body._ He leaned down to kiss her earlobe and Hermione's intake of breath made him smirk; he loved teasing her. "I should tell you more often."

He captured her mouth before she could form the protest he knew would follow his declaration. Tongue dancing along her lips, she opened readily to him. He snaked a hand down the smooth skin of her stomach, into her pyjama pants and knifed his hand between her thighs. Despite her recent slumber, he was satisfied to find her halfway ready for him just at the hint that he was offering to fulfill her more animalistic desires.

It was really something, he reflected, how insatiable his witch really was. _What do you want me to do to you?_

Hermione grabbed the waistline of his pyjama bottoms and began to tug them downward, her breasts pushing against his chest as she struggled. Still with a touch of sleep weighing down her mind, she complacently told him, _I want you._

Draco tugged his pants the rest of the way off, then did the same to hers, glorying in their combined heat. He looked into her eyes, which were shining now with want and stoically teased, _That's not awfully specific._

She countered this with a wave of annoyance. _You are an ass, Draco._

Getting Hermione riled up was one of Draco's favorite pastimes; it brought out the lion in her, which was almost as sexy as her inner-Slytherin. When his fingers pressed against her entrance, he noted that she was now damp and deliciously ready for him.

But not _quite_ enough yet.

He used the pad of his thumb to make maddeningly small circles against her clitoris, enough to tease but not enough to give full pleasure. His eyes glittered with amusement as her frustration visibly mounted.

Growling, she demanded, _Inside of me. Now._

He felt his cock twitch at the demand but instead of complying, he peppered feather-light kisses along her neck and collarbone, working his way down her breast. _You didn't say please._

 _I am not going to beg, Draco._

 _Pity…_ he merely tsked, delighted at her vexation.

Draco was quite sure Hermione was totally unaware of how sexy the look she next gave him was. Wrenching herself from his grip, her head disappeared beneath the sheets. He gasped as her hands pushed his legs apart and he felt the tip of her tongue running along his inner thigh. Her lips pushed softly against his skin until they reached the base of his cock. Tongue dragging up the length of him, he groaned aloud when her mouth closed around his organ.

After only a few moments of her ministrations, Draco worried, _I'm not going to last very long if you keep that up._

To both his relief and his displeasure, she ceased, her bushy head emerging from the sheets once more and her eyes sparkling, _Perhaps you'd be more wiling to oblige me now?_

Normally Draco would have argued just for the sake of arguing with her, but his body was bursting with need. He positioned himself and sank into her tight warmth, eliciting a silky noise of pleasure from her. Her body embraced him and she wrapped her legs around the small of his back, allowing him to sink deeper in. He had to take a moment to collect himself as he balanced on his hands. Rolling his hips forward a few times, he felt Hermione's back arch against him and he paused to slide his hand between them and rub circles on her clitoris again.

Before long, her breath began to come in shallow pants and he could feel himself throbbing inside of her as she squirmed. The melding of their entities was no surprise to them any longer, but it was exquisite nonetheless.

Feeling he was close, Draco reached down and pressed a kiss to Hermione's forehead. As though this were some sort of unspoken signal, he could feel her walls tightening around him and it pushed him off the edge. They freefalled through the abyss together.

When he finally returned to earth, feeling supremely satisfied – and perhaps like he might be able to sleep now – Draco was disturbed to discover Hermione was crying, silent tears rolling freely down her cheeks.

He stiffened, not sure what to do. He had never been good at dealing with emotions. Especially not _other peoples'_ feelings. _Particularly_ not women's. Still, he knew he'd better at least acknowledge that something was upsetting her.

He attempted, _What's wrong?_

 _I'm_ _sorry._ _I don't know what's come over me._

 _Was it that bad?_

Hermione allowed a wet laugh to escape, strangled by a half-sob. _No, not that. Of course not that. It's just, I… thank you for still loving me even though… even though I still taste like heartache._

 _It's impossible not to love you_ , he assured her, glad they weren't obliged to have this conversation out loud, despite that he meant the words, _Trust me, I tried for a long time._

They fell asleep together, a tangle of naked arms and legs, just as the sun began to peek up over the horizon.

.

.

Harry and Ginny welcomed a healthy, screaming James Sirius Potter into the world in late August. Andromeda was delighted for them, but put off visiting for the first week or so, as she was sure the little family would want some privacy in their first days together. This was rather taxing on Teddy, who was used to seeing Harry almost daily.

By the eighth day without even a quick visit from his godfather, the poor tyke's Metamorphmagus abilities had rendered his usually vibrant hair a dull black and Andromeda knew her grandson was becoming slightly depressed. He really looked up to Harry. That day, she had written to Harry with a dual purpose, asking if they could spare a visit for Teddy's sake and to meet the newest Potter.

"Nana?" Teddy queried mournfully.

"Yes, love?"

"Are we gonna see Harry today?" He didn't look very optimistic.

"We _are_ , love," Andromeda answered in the affirmative, folding up Harry's hastily scrawled reply. "Just after lunch."

"Hurrah!" Teddy cheered, his hair already lightening to an ordinary brown.

It had been difficult to get Teddy to eat his lunch after this promise, but Andromeda tried valiantly before finally giving up. Teddy was often very single-minded – just as his grandfather and namesake had been. She pushed that thought to the back of her mind; thinking about Ted still hurt.

Despite how much Teddy wanted to see Harry, it remained supremely difficult to convince him that he needed to put his shoes on before he could go visiting. Eventually, Andromeda won and the duo arrived in Godric's Hollow.

They came face-to-face with Ginny at the grate. She was attempting to hush her squalling child, bouncing him gently. The look in her eyes was something akin in desperation as she exclaimed, "Andromeda!"

"Ginny!" cried Teddy, obliviously rushing over to hug her knees.

Andromeda held out her arms for the child and Ginny gazed at her as if she were a savior, gasping, " _Thank you_!" as she handed over baby James. She looked somewhat more ragged and careworn than she usually did, her vibrant hair somewhat lank and falling from its ponytail. The moment Andromeda began rocking James, he began to gurgle innocently. Ginny stared and demanded, "How did you _do_ that?"

Harry appeared in the doorway, also somewhat haggard looking, his hair a veritable calamity.

"Harry!" Teddy cried, lurching away from Ginny in favor of his beloved godfather. He attached himself to Harry's leg and refused to let go.

"Hey, Teddy," Harry greeted, his voice a little hoarse. "Andromeda, it's great you could stop by. I'm sorry we've been so preoccupied…"

"Nonsense," Andromeda insisted, walking with the baby to the sitting room. Harry stumped after her, Teddy still clinging to one leg in genuine affection.

"Er, would you like me to make some tea?" Harry offered, almost falling over from the Teddy-tumor attached to his leg.

"That would be lovely," she smiled.

"Just so you know, Hermione is on her way over also."

"I'd love to see Hermione."

Harry summoned the serving things into the sitting room and began to make tea, good-naturedly pretending to let Teddy help him in order to convince the toddler to let go of his leg.

"Teddy missed you," Andromeda informed him obviously, cradling the baby. He was a tiny thing, completely bald and with a red face from all his crying.

"I see that," Harry chuckled, glancing down at his godson, who was banging the sugar tongs on the coffee table.

The _whoosh_ of the Floo in the other room signaled the arrival of Hermione, as evidenced by Ginny's subsequent greeting. Harry looked up briefly, but was too involved with Teddy to fully rouse himself.

"You look like shite, Weaslette," observed a drawling, male voice.

" _Draco_!" Hermione's voice reprimanded with horror.

Andromeda froze. James began to mewl uneasily in her arms.

Ginny's defeated voice answered. "He's right, Hermione. I do."

Andromeda had never met her only nephew. Her late daughter had been a Metamorphmagus and therefore looked nothing like herself. The few features of Nymphadora's that had remained stagnant despite her ability, had all been Ted's. Bellatrix, thankfully, had produced no children. Of the three Black sisters, Draco was the only remnant but for Teddy. Andromeda had never even seen a picture of him, having refused to subscribe to any wizarding newspapers or magazines. She had often wondered what he looked like: would he resemble her younger sister in any way, or would he be all Malfoy…?

A dawning realization that she was emotionally unprepared to deal with this meeting, threatened to overwhelm her. It had been thirty years since she'd been disowned. In her heart lurked over half a lifetime of hurt, unused to being allowed to bubble to the surface.

"I didn't know Malfoy was coming," Harry insisted, looking horrorstruck that she'd been put in this situation.

Andromeda realized her emotions must have been showing on her face. She shook her head and tried to look reassuring, "It's alright. I've _wanted_ to meet him, after all. This is just… a bit unexpected. I'll be alright."

She could tell Harry had a response percolating in his mind, but he bit it back, in part because Teddy had now climbed onto his lap and was attempting to clamp the sugar tongs onto his nose.

She knew she wanted to meet Draco Malfoy; if he'd truly begun openly dating Hermione, then Andromeda was _sure_ she would have something in common with her nephew. Still, she wished she'd been able to mentally prepare her words. Strong as she was, there were still things in her heart that hurt, despite that they'd occurred decades ago. She was also afraid of giving offense; purebloods were so particular sometimes… and she had no idea how _he_ might feel about meeting her, either.

"You can come into the sitting room if you like," Ginny was offering, her voice growing clearer with her approach. "Harry was just putting out a spot of tea. 'Dromeda has just arrived with Teddy."

Andromeda was able to gather up all her collective courage just as Ginny materialized in the doorway, followed shortly after by Hermione. The last to appear was the nephew she'd never met.

He looked mostly like Lucius, though he did have certain features that were very clearly inherited from Narcissa. He had the Black family chin, Narcissa's nose and her pale skin. The platinum blond hair was the result of the dominant Malfoy gene, the silver eyes and the grim, thin mouth clearly those of his father.

Still, the fact that a bit of her favorite (albeit estranged) sister lived on in her nephew warmed Andromeda to Draco before he even spoke. It was therefore dismaying that the main emotions displayed on Draco's face upon being confronted with the sight of her, were contempt and barely suppressed fear. It reminded her of the way Hermione tended to flinch at the initial sight of her.

While Andromeda knew this reaction was mostly because she so strongly resembled her elder sister, Bellatrix, it was still disheartening. Narcissa had inherited all the genteel, softer genes, while Andromeda and Bellatrix had often passed for twins when they were younger. They even had the same coarse, curly, black hair.

"Hello, Hermione," Andromeda greeted, benignly enough. She'd learned years ago that the best way to separate herself from Bellatrix was to be pleasant.

"Andromeda, hi!" Hermione came over and embraced her, accepting the offered baby James and cradling him in her arms. She peeked into the swaddled bundle and cooed at him.

"Hi, Her-my-knee!" Teddy greeted jovially, waving at her with his pudgy hand from Harry's lap, (Harry took this opportunity to confiscate the sugar tongs). He still couldn't say her name fully, but who could really blame the boy?

"My, _my_ , Teddy!" Hermione exclaimed in mock surprise, even as she rocked the baby, "I didn't even _recognize_ you, you're so grown up and _handsome_!"

Teddy puffed out his chest, "It's _me_ , all right!"

Harry, Ginny, Andromeda, and Hermione all laughed and Andromeda was pleased to see that Teddy's hair had slowly morphed back into a bright turquoise. It seemed all would be right with him, after all.

Draco remained solidly in the doorway and Andromeda could see he was still tensed, his wand ready in his sleeve. _I suppose I can hardly blame him…_

"Malfoy," Harry greeted, busying himself with making the tea and passing some to Andromeda. Andromeda looked into her cup and noticed he'd forgotten to add the tea leaves in his exhaustion. Turning to Hermione, Harry attempted conversation, "Did you hear Mr. Weasley got his magical fire alarms patented?"

Hermione looked like she might tear up as she choked out, "That's so wonderful."

Andromeda changed the subject, wishing to avoid any more emotional turmoil than was necessary, "I hear we're to congratulate you, too, Harry. The Dementors have officially been removed from Azkaban, or so I've been told."

Public sentiment – along with Harry's letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt – resulted in the exile of the Dementors from control of Azkaban. Then, after the first of June, Hermione's house elf law took effect and Bindy, the Nott family house elf, was the first elf to petition for her freedom under the new law, which was granted. There had been many legal victories in the past few months, it seemed.

"Do you want to hold the baby, Draco?" Hermione offered. Harry's head shot up, looking nervous at the very idea of his former schoolboy nemesis holding his week-old firstborn.

Luckily for Harry, Draco's response was to roll his eyes and heartily decline. "As I told you _before_ we set foot into this place, Hermione, I agreed to accompany you here _only_ on the understanding that I would _not_ be holding anyone's child... least of all Potter's."

Ginny sniggered, sinking into the nearby rocking chair and taking a cup of hot water with lemon from Harry (he still hadn't noticed he'd forgotten the tea leaves). "Good thing, too, because growing that baby was hard work on my part and it's not got any easier since he forcibly expelled himself from my loins."

"You are so eloquent, Gin," Hermione commended sarcastically. Baby James was now quiet as she shifted her weight back and forth from one hip to the other.

"It's true," Ginny protested. Then, turning her head from where she sat, she demanded, "Are you just going to stand in the doorway, Malfoy? It's just a baby, he doesn't bite. He doesn't even have teeth."

Draco rolled his eyes again, but sauntered over to the farthest armchair, nonetheless. Andromeda noticed he was now attempting not to make eye contact with her at all and she busied herself with fixing the tea Harry had botched.

Harry cleared his throat and looked sidelong at Andromeda before turning to Hermione and asking, "Did you want to see James's nursery? We should probably put him to sleep now that he's quieted."

"I'd love to," Hermione sang. She was gazing at the baby almost lovingly.

Without further ado, Harry led Hermione and little James upstairs. Teddy followed behind them like a loyal dog.

Draco, Andromeda and Ginny sat in silence until Andromeda noticed Ginny had begun snoring softly in her chair. Draco was still uncertain and tense in the seat on the far side of the room.

"Well this is awkward," he finally drawled.

Andromeda laughed, breaking the tension, "Only if you insist that it is. Tea?"

He set his jaw and crossed the room to accept some, taking Ginny's precariously tipping cup of hot water from her hands and setting it on the coffee table before sinking into a seat that was closer.

"I've wanted to meet you for some time now," Andromeda informed him, "as I'm sure you're aware."

Draco was silent.

"Though… having been in a situation very similar to yours before, I do understand why you might not necessarily want to see me."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Our situations aren't _that_ similar… you had a family to go against. Mine is dead."

"True," Andromeda mused, "but I'd be willing to bet we were raised with the same set of prejudices. Overcoming them is no small feat. I knew my husband was just as good a wizard as any pureblood…still, I worried our child would be some sort of mutant, or at the very _least_ highly prejudiced against. You can't imagine how I cried when Nymphadora ended up a Metamorphmagus. Still, I've often thought Ted was the stronger of the two of us, as he rarely let my family's discriminations get to him."

Draco was cradling his tea in his hands, allowing its warmth to seep into his skin. His eyes shifted downward into his lap as he took in her words. Ginny was still snoring in the rocking chair.

Glancing sidelong at the sleeping redhead, Draco observed quietly, "Funny how all three of the people in this room are pureblood, but decided there were… more important things."

Andromeda nodded, encouraged by his remark. "Ginny was the lucky one. She was raised to be tolerant."

He looked thoughtful at this and nodded slowly, sipping at his tea.

"Ted helped raise our daughter to be a fine young woman. I see much of him in my grandson. It keeps me going. I see pieces of Narcissa in you, too – and that is also comforting."

Though his posture betrayed nothing, Andromeda thought she noticed a glint of some emotion in Draco's eyes. He buried it before she could identify it. Eventually, he said, "I didn't know about you at all until I was nine or ten. My Mother was ill with ague and she spoke of you in her bouts of delirium. My Father cared for her, or else made sure she was provided with the best possible medicines and care available. That was how I learned about…" his eyes shifted to Ginny, as if to determine she was still asleep, "…about love. I always wanted to find that in a spouse and, well, I _have_ found it… just not in the place I expected…"

"Yes, it does sneak up on you, doesn't it?" Andromeda agreed sensibly. "It takes an extraordinary person to make you understand that you were wrong about something you were raised to believe."

"Hermione certainly is that," Draco all but whispered, the pale skin of his cheeks turning pink with the admission.

"Still, you must be special yourself if you were able to make her see past the prejudices _she_ had."

Draco quirked an incredulous eyebrow at his aunt.

Andromeda nodded, "As I recall, my psychotic sister tortured Hermione somewhat extensively."

Draco's jaw tensed and he spit out, "I was there."

"Well, for awhile, Hermione was rather anti-pureblood. I'm sure you can imagine why. It was a long time before she was able to overcome that, but she did." Andromeda was thoughtful a moment. "I still notice her flinch when she sees me. I know it isn't her fault; I do look quite a lot like my dear, departed sister."

Aunt and nephew fell into a companionable silence, punctuated only by Ginny's exhausted snores. Andromeda felt this interview had gone very well, considering, and was almost disappointed that it needed to come to an end when she heard the return of Harry, Hermione and Teddy coming down the stairs. Harry was preoccupied with Teddy, who still hadn't gotten enough of his godfather, while Hermione's eyes were misty and there was a certain softness about her that put Draco visibly on edge.

"I hope you aren't getting broody," he drawled, the public mask now back in place.

"Ugh," Harry effused in disgust, making a face at the mere thought.

"Certainly not," Hermione insisted.

Smirking, Draco sat back.

"Come here, Teddy," Andromeda ordered. "Poor Harry is tired, and just look at Ginny."

Harry glanced for the first time at his wife and chuckled at the image of her slumped into the rocking chair, her mouth ajar. "I don't know the last time Ginny has slept. I got a few hours yesterday, but James hasn't been sleeping more than an hour at a time…"

"We won't stay," Andromeda reassured him. "Teddy was getting a bit depressed and I wanted to be sure you all were still alive, but we only intended to come by for a quick visit."

Draco listened to Harry politely protest this, but his aunt put her foot down. He hoped he and Hermione weren't going to stay long either; babies really weren't his thing, especially not one that was half-Potter and half-Weasley. The additional presence of the Metamorphmagus-werewolf second cousin of his made him even more nervous.

Luckily, Andromeda escaped before Teddy's full meltdown began, worrying that the toddler's tantrum might wake the baby (or Ginny). Draco was almost glad of the necessity for her hasty departure, as it left no time for any further heart-to-heart conversations she might wish to have. The fact that he'd admitted he loved Hermione to a woman he'd only just met, was beginning to make him feel like a Hufflepuff. He didn't like it.

"Malfoy?" Harry jarred him from his thoughts. Draco realized they were essentially alone, as Hermione had disappeared upstairs to check that Teddy's noisy departure hadn't wakened the baby. Ginny was still fast asleep in the chair. "Used the Stone yet?"

Draco shook his head, "Not yet. I'm still trying to decide what I want to say. I know you want it back soon."

Harry nodded absently. "I just don't want to loose track of it."

Draco thought this was a diplomatic way of Potter reminding him of their still very new and tentative mutual understanding. "What are you saving it for, anyway?"

"For my godson," Harry replied furtively. "I know I'll never be able to replace Teddy's parents, but I can give him the gift of meeting them someday when he's older… when he's ready."

Draco jeered, "I should have known it was something soft-hearted and heroic."

Harry merely shrugged, too exhausted to engage in a verbal joust. His eyelids were beginning to droop.

 _I'll use it tonight_ , Draco decided privately as Hermione descended the stair and signaled that all was still well. Mind now rather preoccupied, he barely noticed himself departing Godric's Hollow and was somewhat surprised to find himself back in Woodhaven only moments later.

.

.

Draco lingered in a blissful but torturous state between asleep and awake, aware of his surroundings but oblivious to time or context. It was as if his body was trying to decide whether to fall completely into slumber or to wake itself back up.

His eyes cracked open and he blinked blearily once, twice, three times.

He was suddenly very much awake.

The clock on the wall read 2:37, which meant he and Hermione had gone to sleep hours ago. Her naked body was still cradled within his and she had laced her fingers through his own in her sleep. Draco tried not to move, though the recognition that her warm, soft backside was pressed against his manhood, stimulated a partial erection.

He considered waking her, to keep him company. Or better yet, perhaps he would simply slide inside her while she slept and let her awaken to him driving himself into her. Her thighs were still sticky from his last orgasm and hers.

With that thought burning into his mind, he almost woke her, but at the last second, thought better of it. After all, he reminded himself with conviction, there was a reason he had fought sleep for most of the night…

Disentangling himself from Hermione took more time and care than he'd anticipated, but he somehow managed to do it without disturbing her sleep. Rising from the bed, Draco squinted into the semi-darkness and located the nearest pair of pants he could find on the floor. He suddenly felt very alive and on-edge, as if there were static under his skin…

…Restless.

His eyes danced furtively toward the high boy that contained most of his things. In the top corner drawer was the Resurrection Stone. For the first time, the thought of speaking to his parents again didn't fill him with a slew of emotional drivel. Perhaps he was strong enough. Perhaps meeting Andromeda had given him additional courage.

Better to simply do it before he chickened out, he reminded himself. He'd given Hermione that advice before visiting her parents' graves. Granted, _that_ hadn't exactly gone as planned, but _this_ was surely different…

Besides, he had already decided only hours ago that he would do it tonight.

Steeling himself, it was almost three minutes before Draco realized he was trying to put on Hermione's pants instead of his own. It had seemed odd that they didn't fit and he silently thanked Merlin she was asleep so she couldn't laugh at his struggles. He still wasn't used to sharing so much personal space with someone; pants on the floor of his bedroom had simply always just been _his_ , not someone else's.

Once he was properly dressed and all in his own clothing, Draco reached for his wand on the nightstand where it rested beside Hermione's. It wouldn't do to go on a walk, alone, without it.

Having decided on his course of action, he quietly opened the top drawer of the high boy and removed the Stone. It was cool and smooth in his hand. He dropped it into his pocket for the moment.

Shutting the bedroom door behind him, Draco quietly wound his way down the stairs of the East Tower and ejected himself from Woodhaven's front door. He stood on the front step for a moment, breathing in the heavy air of late summer and almost tasting the promise of autumn on the wind.

 _I am doing this,_ he steeled himself. He'd had some time to think about what he was going to say, though he wasn't sure he was ready to hear the answers.

But then, it was possible he would _never_ be ready.


	61. In the Wandwood Grove

Author's Note: Huge thanks to all who reviewed: Frogster, Chester99, Calimocho, jperks, siewchee12345, sparklemilk, Musicangel913, K. E. Degz, Sam Wallflower, and I was BOTWP. Here's another nice, long chapter. I hope you don't hate it!

Please note: some passages taken almost verbatim from Chamber of Secrets and Deathly Hallows. All hail Queen Rowling.

.

.

Draco's plan was to follow the path from Woodhaven to the small copse just beyond the borders for his interview. This would still be close enough to the house, but far enough away to be assured of privacy.

He touched the pocket of his trousers to reassure himself that the small bit of obsidian was still safely tucked away there. For a split second, he wondered if Potter might be playing a cruel joke on him. Draco recalled first year, when he'd challenged Harry to a duel and then tipped off Filch that the Gryffindors would be out and about after curfew, instead of showing up himself. He had a sneaking suspicion Potter wouldn't be that petty… still, it would be a humungous letdown if the Stone didn't work at all, given the amount of thought he'd put into it.

He was sure to keep to the path as he headed into the forest, glad of the moonlight sluicing onto the trail in large splotches to guide him. The trees rustled softly, like a lullaby, reminding him he should be in bed. The late summer cicadas sang, joined by an errant bullfrog croaking nearby.

Before long, the small coppice intended as his destination opened off to the side of the path and Draco steeled himself for what was to come. Before he could set foot into the grove however, a strange intuition made him pause a moment…

Something was telling him to leave the path.

 _Compelling_ him to leave the path.

It wasn't a voice, but a feeling… something that was Deep Magic.

Draco had never experienced Deep Magic before, but his Father had once spoken about it, as had the Dark Lord. He'd also overheard it mentioned by Professor Lupin of all people, back in his third year. From the little Draco knew, it was ancient magic that could belong to no mortal being, being instead the magic of Sea, Earth and Sky… and perhaps, Beyond.

It was the possibility of beyond that scared most wizards.

Draco had never heard if it were a good idea to heed Deep Magic, or to run from it. After all, it was not magic of any caliber that his human body was capable of channeling with any amount of control. He would surely succumb to any dark deed it might have planned for him.

He gazed into the shadowy forest, darker than the trail he walked and misty with heavy humidity. It didn't look particularly inviting, but he felt the tugging sensation becoming more insistent. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead from the mugginess of the air and it was a cool, revitalizing breeze that convinced him to turn away from the path and head into the thicket.

Unsure of the direction he was meant to take, it hardly seemed to matter; Draco's feet moved on their own, as if they no longer belonged to him. A roaring sound from up ahead piqued his curiosity, though it also made him tighten his fingers around his wand, just in case. It seemed he was following an incline, while slowly heading west. Before long, the roaring sound was revealed to be a thin river, glinting with the reflections of the stars.

Draco followed the riverbank uphill. He had felt it before when he'd been on his walks with Hermione in the forest, but the feeling was even stronger now… there was something familiar about this place... Intimately familiar.

Before long, the ground became steep. The earth was loose beneath his shoes and caused him to slide or occasionally stumble. The stars twinkled benignly above as he sweated like an animal, wishing to stop and take a rest but his legs not allowing him to cease his climb. The Deep Magic grew stronger the closer he came to the crest of the hill; it ran through his veins like ice water. While this was a refreshing respite from the muggy air, it did not give him comfort. He felt helpless.

As he came closer to his destination – he somehow knew that the top of the hill was where he was headed – he noticed the river growing wider to his right, the trees growing larger and denser. The earth seemed open onto the sky ahead of him and he could hear the clamor of the ocean. Had he really walked so far?

Jerking him from his apprehension, tiny blinking stars seemed be appearing all around him in the wood. They were tiny, but buzzing with energy.

 _Not stars_ , he realized, _fairies._

Draco blinked at the small creatures, flitting around with their large, insect-like wings and grooming themselves, or else buzzing in communication with one another. He'd often seen them used as decorations, especially around Christmas time, as they were known to be vain creatures that would happily allow themselves to be admired by witches and wizards to cater to their own ego. Never had he seen them in the wild, however.

They seemed to grow more numerous the wider the river became and the nearer the crest of the hill drew. By now, the Deep Magic was so strongly possessing him, Draco felt cold, despite his sweat. There were large, long clouds scattered throughout the night sky, partially obscuring some stars and skirting around others.

The overwhelming sense of familiarity struck him again, though he was quite sure he'd never been to this place before in his life… when it dawned on him.

He was walking through the piazza at Terrazza Mosaico. Through his painting he'd made for his Mother as a child and that Lucius had transformed into an elaborate mosaic.

 _How?_

He didn't know the answer.

Suddenly he was at the top of the hill and his body was his own again. Before him was a clearing surrounded by hawthorn trees in a perfect circle. He hesitated outside of it, apprehensively taking in the wide fairy ring of mushrooms that had formed itself within the shade of the hawthorns and their gnarled tangle of branches.

Fairies only had a very weak brand of magic, Draco knew, but they were naturally drawn to places and things that contained magic stronger than theirs. They were known for wrapping magical places in fairy rings like the one before him. It wasn't likely to cause him any harm, but where there were fairies, there were most likely also tree-dwelling bowtruckles. The bowtruckles loved eating fairy eggs and often made homes in trees where fairies roosted, preferring trees of wand-quality to live in.

Bowtruckles, unlike fairies, _might_ actually cause him harm, as they'd been known to sneak up on an unsuspecting wizard and poke out their eyes with their long, twig-like fingers.

As if to confirm this speculation, Draco's keen eye spotted one of the camouflaged bowtruckles creeping down a tree near him. The creature would be attracted to his wand even more strongly than it was attracted to the wand-quality tree it lived in.

Draco stepped to the side and glanced at the hawthorn wand in his hand. He knew exactly what was happening… and it frightened him.

 _Thither go to speak to the stars in the wandwood grove…_

Swallowing deeply and calling upon whatever courage was in his possession, he stepped into the fairy ring, into the perfect circle of hawthorns, away from the creeping bowtruckle in the tree. The Deep Magic no longer ran cold through his veins, but seemed to brush against his skin like strips of silk fluttering in the wind.

He looked up at the sky, not sure what he wanted to have happen. It felt like his heart had stopped, like his breath had ceased. _What could be so important that it led me here… to this place… on this night, predetermined fifteen generations ago?_

Body shaking with the alien aura of the air around him, Draco felt a wriggling feeling that the Deep Magic did not mean him any harm, though he took no comfort from the knowledge.

Without even realizing he'd done it, he had pulled out his wand. In a scratchy voice, hoarse from his steep climb, he queried aloud, "What am I supposed to do?"

The image of Hermione's silvery otter Patronus flashed through his mind. Draco knew his course of action, but he'd never been able to conjure even a wisp of the complex enchantment, let alone a corporeal Patronus.

"Expecto Patronum," he tried.

Nothing happened.

 _Concentrate_ , he reminded himself, gripping his wand in determination. "Expecto Patronum."

A curl of silver mist dissipated into the chill air quickly.

Well, that was _something_.

 _You have to think of something happy_ , Hermione's voice whispered from the corner of his mind, an echo of the night the Dementors had attacked them in the graveyard.

Draco imagined Hermione beside him, nuzzled into his chest and drawing circles with her finger on his skin. He thought of running his fingers through her hair, her ocher eyes gazing up at him and smiling, whispering that she loved him.

"Expecto Patronum."

Something more this time… a great mist spreading outward and lingering there, snorting like a wild beast but refusing to take shape.

Draco felt a burning curiosity: what form would his guardian take? The possibility had never presented itself to him before. He knew Hermione had her otter, Weasley had a Jack Russell Terrier, and Potter had a stag. Hermione had later told him Kingsley Shacklebolt had a lynx and Albus Dumbledore had a phoenix. These were supposed to be reflections of the soul. Draco understood why Hermione would have an otter: they were playful, but could be ferocious when provoked, sliding easy between the world of land and sea, like Hermione herself and the Muggle world she'd come from into the wizarding one she'd been integrated into. It just made sense.

For himself, though?

Curiosity burned him. "Expecto Patronum!"

Less of a mist than the last.

"Concentrate," he chided himself. "Think of something happy."

But it was difficult to find a memory that could truly be called happy. He combed his mind for something, but even his childhood – which had admittedly been an indulged, privileged one – had little that could count as true happiness.

He selected a memory from the week before the start of his fifth year, which was the last time he could really say his family had felt like… well, a family. He'd gotten his prefect badge in the mail and Narcissa had insisted they have a special family supper, just the three of them. Lucius had bestowed him with a congratulatory gift, but Draco had mainly felt pleased at the pride his parents had shown they felt for him... like he was going to turn out to be someone they would be appreciative to have as a son.

Taking a deep breath, Draco closed his eyes as he remembered his Mother's embrace, the familiar scent that always seemed to follow her wherever she went, the feel of her arms around his shoulders…

"Expecto Patronum," he all but whispered, clinging to the memory like a drowning man with a life preserver.

His wand erupted and something enormous burst free. Draco blinked a couple times, astounded by success.

With a wild snort deeper than a horse's, the fire drake spread its wings and lifted its regal head to the night sky before taking flight. It was reptilian in form, but feathered in places, with pale eyes. Drakes were related to dragons and basilisks, but much smaller; this one was about the size of a draft horse. Draco watched it with awe as it rose toward the clouds, its serpentine, spiked tail sidewinding in the sky behind it.

As the Patronus rose higher into the sky, disappearing altogether with surprising alacrity, the light of the very stars burst into glorious light and became blinding.

Or perhaps, he had never seen them properly before.

Just as his eyes began to adjust to the light, Draco became aware that the Patronus was returning. Or _was_ it the Patronus?

He squinted, trying to make out the gargantuan shape beating its wings in the night sky. As it drew closer, he recognized that this was larger… much larger, and its scales a red-orange color, where his Patronus had been silver. He wondered – too late – if he should move to make room for it, or if he should run, but his body had gone still, like prey sensing a nearby predator. Buffeted by the wind from the beast's wingbeats, the dragon came down with a dull crash that sent ripples across the ground, removing any last doubt that this was _real_ , and certainly not a Patronus.

The dragon's body undulated with movement, even as it drew still. It observed Draco with one large, golden eye the size of a trash can lid. In that eye, Draco saw feral power and raw omniscience and it cowed him.

 _Heretofore the dragon sleeps…_

They surveyed one another for a long moment. Indeed, Draco had no idea whether a minute had passed, or an hour. Finally…

 _Greetings, Draco…_

He stared. The dragon hadn't communicated to him aloud. Rather, it had spoken to him in the same way Hermione often did, through his mind. This, however, was less like a conversation and more like an imparting of knowledge.

Draco wanted to ask why the dragon was there, or what it meant to say or do to him. Instead he asked, _What am I doing here?_

 _It was foretold._

 _But… how? Why?_

 _Thither go to speak to the stars in the wandwood grove… erelong the northern constellation shall reveal the truth… to which memory alone binds us._

Draco's head was swimming with theories, each more farfetched than the last. _So you are… a representation of the stars?_

The dragon's nostrils emitting a large column of smoke, the heat of which Draco felt on his face and his bare arms. A deep rumbling began in its chest and eked out through pointed teeth like long sabers. With a start, Draco realized the dragon was laughing at him!

 _I am a fusion of your soul and the constellation whose memory runs through your veins. I am Draco._

"Draco?" he repeated aloud. "You're… me? Or…?"

 _Your given name was a happy accident, considering the star whose memory lives on in you._

"The star in my veins… is from the dragon constellation…?" Draco could feel from his companion that this was true. "The northern constellation! Of course, the constellation Draco is only visible in the northern hemisphere!"

The dragon looked bored, blinking its large, golden eye lazily. _Patronuses act as messengers. Yours fetched me. Now I am here to allow you the choice to live on in amaranthine eminence_.

"Verily it shall pass… the line of Malfoy shall jealously guard in secret, for ten and five generations, a divination ensuring their own continuation and amaranthine eminence, by virtue of one of their own," Draco recited flawlessly.

 _Through you_ , the dragon confirmed, idly rustling one of its wings and re-folding it against its body. A nearby tree was almost taken out by the movement and a cluster of fairies, which had gathered nearby to watch the proceedings were buffeted away with the consequent gust of air.

 _What do I have to do?_ Draco queried.

 _I will take you with me and return you to the star from which you came._

Draco started. He certainly hadn't expected that answer. He blurted, "I'd have to die?"

It almost seemed he was trying the dragon's patience. _Humans are so narrow-minded about life and death. You would cease to inhabit the body currently containing your soul, yes. Conversely, if you chose to accompany me back to the heavens, you would be ensured eternal continuation and everlasting nobility. Stars do not care for the so-called 'nobility' of humans. Humans are filthy, forked, leaking things. Stars are brilliant and admired, true nobles containing the most powerful of Deep Magic._

Draco turned this through his mind, the wheels spinning and gears grinding. This was no small decision. Finally, he asked, "How do I know you're genuine?"

 _Memory alone binds us_ , the dragon answered. _I have no concrete proof for you._

"Memory alone binds us!" Draco exclaimed. "But what does that _mean_?"

 _It is rare for humans to be accepted amongst the stars, but those that are chosen often do need convincing… memory will suffice._

The dragon curved its serpentine neck down toward Draco, who could feel the heat from its breath like he'd been standing in front of the fireplace for far too long. The beast's largest fangs were longer than Draco's entire arm. If he'd been able to run, he might have, but he thought perhaps that might only anger the beast. With a great snort, the dragon's nose touched Draco's forehead. Its scales felt hard and hot against his skin.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a twisting sensation began in Draco's gut, swirling outward through his body until every small bit of him seemed to be hurtling through a void of emotions, colors and shapes. Quickly growing nauseous, his vision was spotty and unfocused until…

.

.

" _Oof_ ," he uttered, falling ungracefully to the hard floor. He stood quickly, rubbing his aching backside.

Vision oddly distorted, it was like he was viewing the world from underwater. The room seemed strangely familiar...

"Hush, sweetheart," a soft voice sang gently. "Mother is here, she will love you forever."

Draco's eyes widened and he slowly turned on his heel; he would recognize that voice anywhere. The room swam into greater focus and before him was his Mother, bent over the side of a tall, mahogany bassinet. She looked younger than he remembered, but it was very clearly her. Her skin shone like polished ivory in the dim light of Draco's old nursery at the Manor.

"Mother?" he croaked out.

But she seemed not to hear him. Draco glanced down and noticed he appeared to be somewhat insubstantial, like a ghost. He wondered if he'd died. That would explain why Narcissa was here…

"Draco," she cooed into the bassinet.

A lump forming in his throat, Draco glanced down into the cradle and came face-to-face with… himself. He was probably no more than six months old and he already had a full head of platinum blond hair.

 _So I'm in the past then_ , he deduced. _A memory._

His eyes took in his Mother's loving face greedily, unable to sate himself on a mere memory. Too soon, the world began swirling around him again and he felt himself lurching forward. He tried to grab at something – _anything_ – to keep himself there, but his hands passed right through everything he came into contact with…

.

.

Prepared this time, he didn't fall to the floor, but his feet did slam into the hardwood enough to make him wince. This was very unfair, Draco thought, as he was supposed to be insubstantial and shouldn't be able to feel pain if that were the case.

With another jolt, Draco realized he was in the library at Malfoy Manor and his six-year-old self was playing on the floor with one of Lucius's old greyhounds, long since passed.

"Draco," called another voice that was burned into his mind, and Lucius materialized from the far side of the library. He was just as tall and imposing as Draco always remembered.

His six-year-old self trotted over to his Father obediently.

"It is not becoming for you to tussle on the floor with a dog," Lucius reprimanded. "Others may do such things, but you are _better_."

Six-year-old Draco nodded vigorously, eager to please his Father.

Appearing satisfied, Lucius touched Draco's shoulder, "Remember, son, you are triply special: first as a wizard, second as a pureblood, and third as a member of the Malfoy family. Don't forget it."

Draco had to look away; he remembered Lucius telling him those very words many times…

.

.

Draco was at Hogwarts now, on the Quidditch pitch. Hermione and Weasley were rushing onto the field from the stands, while Potter glared at him in red Quidditch robes. Twelve-year-old Draco in his Slytherin greens was showing off the seven Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones his Father had purchased for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

He already knew where this was going, and wished he could stop it this time around.

"Good, aren't they?" said twelve-year-old him smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in," Hermione retorted sharply. Her hair was fantastically bushy, likely because of the air's humidity. " _They_ got in on pure talent."

The smug look on twelve-year-old Draco's face flickered and he spat, "No one asked _your_ opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."

Draco flinched.

The world spun again…

.

.

Everything seemed very disjointed and fragmented now, the memories not so clear. Draco's surroundings were spinning constantly, a whirlwind of memory.

It was the end of summer break before sixth year and Draco found himself in the back room at Borgin & Burke having the Dark Mark branded into his arm. He grit his teeth, but bore the pain, unwilling to show weakness in front of the others…

.

.

He was on the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. Headmaster Dumbledore was offering him safety and anonymity. Draco wanted to take it but…

.

.

"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

"Wait," said Bellatrix sharply. "All except… except for the Mudblood."

"No!" Weasley shouted, his face as red as his hair. "You can have me, keep me!"

Bellatrix hit him across the face; the blow echoed around the room. Seventeen-year-old Draco was shifting uncomfortably, knowing something dreadful was about to happen.

"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next," Bellatrix promised. She took out her short, silver knife and cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, dragging her by her voluminous hair into the middle of the room. Greyback shoved the others down into the Manor's basement.

Draco was forced to watch a second time as Bellatrix cast a prolonged _Crucio_ on Hermione, delighting in her anguished screams.

"HERMIONE!" Weasley was bellowing from the basement. "HERMIONE!"

Bellatrix pulled out her knife once more and set to work carving the hateful slur into her victim's arm. Hermione thrashed and tried to fight back, but Bellatrix slapped her, beat her and ripped at her, making it all the worse...

.

.

Narcissa's body lay across her comforter in a mangled heap. Blood dripped down the walls. Her hair was caked with it, her throat essentially ripped apart, her body riddled with stab wounds. Everywhere there were signs of an epic struggle.

Across the mirror of her gilded vanity was smeared the word 'Justice' in her own gore…

.

.

"Question _everything_ , Draco," Lucius whispered, his hollow eyes widening. "Always question everything."

"I will try, Father."

The bleak Azkaban cell seemed to cave in on them like the ruthless sea claiming a new victim…

.

.

Astoria swung from his bedroom ceiling nakedly, her face swollen and mottled with burst blood vessels. Her life's blood ran down her buttocks and legs from gaping slits on her wrists.

Sanctity…

.

.

Draco didn't think he could take any more. There was so much pain in his past, so many horrible things. Afraid of what might meet his eyes this time, he squeezed them shut.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hermione's soft voice whispered.

Draco wrenched his eyes back open. He was in his bedroom at Woodhaven and the sun was readying itself for a spectacular setting, the morning glories curling innocently through the window.

"Do you?" his other self asked her. They were both naked, cloaked only by the thin sheets, and he was tracing a line across her pattern of beauty marks with his finger. His eyes betrayed that he was slightly nervous.

She nodded vigorously, a few strands of hair coming loose from her braid with the motion.

"Are you sure?"

The sheets were thankfully covering them both, but Draco could see the outline of his past self's body quivering.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, "I want you."

His form moved from beneath the sheets and he heard Hermione's intake of breath…

.

.

Theo was wrenching Draco's face toward his own, kissing him roughly as Draco struggled to get away.

"In the name of all that is holy, Theo… what _the actual fuck_!"

Theo adjusted his glasses and shuffled his feet, staring pointedly at Draco as he answered, "You have other options than just Granger you know."

Draco felt sick to his stomach all over again…

.

.

When he returned to the clearing, Draco discovered he'd fallen to his knees. He could feel the pain of it all wracking his body, the old grief fresh and new again, compounded.

 _Your past has mostly been riddled with pain_ , the dragon reminded him coldly. _Pain is something you will never escape from in your human existence._

Fighting against the desire to become a sobbing puddle on the forest floor, Draco blinked quickly and rose back to his feet. _There were some good memories there, too._

The dragon snorted, emitting a stream of smoke as it did so. _Compared to the possibility I'm offering you, your entire existence is pain._

Draco's brow furrowed, _What is my possibility?_

.

.

He was floating serenely on nothingness.

The fires of greed, hatred, and delusion had been extinguished completely from his being. Instead, a bright white light embodied by freedom, radiance, and joy seemed to emanate from him. His pain was gone, his sadness utterly banished…

.

.

 _That is what awaits you._

Draco closed his eyes. His brain seemed sluggish, unable to make headway through the mire in his head. _This prophecy has consumed my entire life. It has dictated every iota of my willpower, leaving me with nothing of my own. Tell me… do I have any choice at all?_

 _You chose to become close to Hermione, even when you were promised to another woman. You chose to allow the connection you felt with her, to expand. If you had begun methodically shutting her out instead of accepting her, you would have soon been freed of her the way you once were. The bond you share is in your blood, yes, but that was something that never needed to manifest. You knew her for years before you ever became close to her. Your acceptance of her allowed your bond to flourish. You chose to distance yourself from the ideals spouted by your parents – things you were indoctrinated to believe. You chose to listen to the prophecy, thereby giving it power. Your choices led you here. Now. Choose._

This revelation that he'd really been in control of his own destiny the entire time, left Draco with a maelstrom of thoughts too harried and tumultuous to fully grasp. He thought of Hermione and how difficult it had been to get her to trust that he wasn't going to leave…

"What would my future be if I chose a mortal life?"

The dragon snorted again, this time in obvious derision, _Why would you want to?_

Draco swallowed, _I have to know. Show me._

Nostrils flaring, the dragon snaked its head down toward him once more, its nose touching his forehead a second time. A now-familiar tugging sensation began at his navel and pulled him forward…


	62. Visions

Author's Note: Okay guys... please, please, _please_ don't hate me after this chapter. At the same time, I sure hope it hits you in the feels (because that will have meant I did it correctly). Bwahaha.

Thanks for the spectacular reviews: Anon, Frogster, annalyciareads, jperks, musicluvver297, Sam Wallflower, siewchee12345, I was BOTWP, the two Guest reviewers, K. E. Degz, Musicangel913, Calimocho, sparklemilk, Chester99, Dolphin02, haydensister, ellabelle12. You guys always make me feel awesome when I read what you have to say!

.

.

Unlike the ghost-like state he'd been forced into when sent into the past, Draco seemed to be an active participant in his future. He was pulled and twisted through future memories, colors and shapes blurring into a confusing mass as he hurtled forward. Finally, he was transported into something comparatively static…

It was four days until the wedding and Draco was in a very good mood. He'd spent much of the morning going for a long walk in the wood with Legend, Deacon and Festus.

Woodhaven came into view at last, the place where he'd known mostly happiness and solidarity. Hermione had become a bundle of nerves in the last month before their union and Draco had taken to going on these long jaunts, just to give her some space.

When he opened the front door, the dogs pouring in before him and the others coming up to greet him, he could sense immediately that something was wrong. Draco felt for Hermione, but her presence was guarded, tense.

He found in her in solarium in front of Crookshanks. The cat was dead.

Hermione was crying softly, unwilling to move herself or the body. She wiped her eyes, "I don't know how old he was, but I think he was quite ancient. The woman at the emporium said he'd been there for ages. Still…"

.

.

More confusing movement through time and space hurtled Draco forward somewhat further, until he was dropped into a new future body.

He was wearing a set of formal dress robes and was wildly nervous, his heart beating like a cadence kept by an erratic drummer. He was alone, in a room he didn't recognize – something like an antechamber.

"Draco?"

He started at his name and turned to face his aunt. Andromeda was dressed to the nines and she'd gotten a striking haircut.

"Nervous?" she queried.

Unsticking his throat, he managed, "A bit."

"Still time to just elope," she suggested impishly, a smirk stealing over her face. "I'd be happy to play messenger. You just have to ask."

Shaking his head and feeling he might be ill, he answered, "I'm not nervous about there being other people here to witness... I'm nervous she's going to get cold feet. This is her last chance to be rid of me. What if she realizes it?"

Andromeda hugged her nephew tightly. It wasn't the same as his mother, but it was reminiscent somehow. He embraced her back, because he really needed it. Into the crook of his shoulder, her muffled reply was, "If I've ever seen anyone more in love than Hermione is with you, I'll eat my dress robes…"

.

.

He seemed to be lost in the vortex for much longer this time, before...

Draco paced the length of the room, feeling he was slowly going insane with the waiting. He'd taken to counting things: there were fifty-eight tiles that made up the length of the room, while it was thirty-two tiles wide. The wall was twenty-seven bricks high and exactly sixty bricks long. There were six chairs, each with three backboards. There were four lights on the ceiling…

A high-pitched cry echoed from the neighboring room and made him wince in pain. If he had to start counting scuff marks on the floor, he would.

"Daddy?" a small, sleepy voice asked, just as Draco felt a tug near the pocket of his trousers. He looked down into the pale, cherubic face demanding his attention and his expression softened. "Is Mummy going to be okay?"

Another of Hermione's anguished screams seemed to punctuate that query.

"Of course she is. She's been through this before, you know, with you," he told the little girl, lifting his daughter up and balancing her on his hip, her long legs stretching down almost to his knees. She'd been sleeping soundly through the night so far; now, a serious expression adorned her pale face, brown eyes wide with questions. With a pang, Draco realized she was growing too big for him to hold her this way much longer.

"Why are you so scared, then?" the five-year-old queried.

"Because, Caris, I love your Mum very much," he whispered, just for her ears. "I don't like it when she's in pain."

The little girl frowned at this, "Is Mummy in _lots_ of pain?"

"Yes," he told her truthfully. He'd never yet lied to his daughter. He grimaced as his body was wracked with another burning spasm, like his hip bones being splintered. "Daddy's taking some of it away, though."

Nodding sagely, Caris told him, "That's brave of you, Daddy."

Draco would have responded, but the worst pain yet forced him to sink into one of the waiting room chairs with his daughter, desperately trying to keep her occupied by something other than himself. He could feel himself sweating, could feel an agonizing tear rolling alone down his cheek… and then…

A tiny cry permeated from the other room and Draco's heart skipped two beats, the pain suddenly obliterated. Caris's head whipped around in wonder at the sound and they both heard Hermione's muffled sob.

Presently, one of the Healers poked her head out the delivery room door. The sleeves of her robes were rolled up and her forearms were drenched with blood, but she wore a smile on her face. "Come on in, Mr. Malfoy. Your wife and son are waiting for you."

 _I have a son_ , he thought dazedly.

Weakly, but reassuringly, Hermione's voice gently corrected him from beyond the wall separating them, _We have a son._

She looked like hell, most of her braid having come apart during her seven-hour labor. There had been a moment of panic at the beginning, where Draco had wanted to stay with her – he hadn't seen his daughter born, either – but Hermione refused to let him be present.

The tiny bundle in her arms was wrapped in a clean, white blanket and was making the occasional squalling sound. Draco's silver eyes were wide as he took in the tiny, red face peeking out from within the blanket. A shock of platinum hair graced the little boy's forehead.

Hermione's dry lips cracked into a smile and she blinked tiredly down at her daughter, who was gazing at the bundle with curiosity. "Caris, sweetheart, would you like to meet your baby brother?"

Nodding, the little girl attempted to climb into the bed with her mother, her blonde ringlets bouncing as she tried to propel herself upward; Draco had to help her up the rest of the way. Hermione pulled her daughter into her side and rested the newborn on both their laps for a moment. Peeking into the bundle, Caris looked up quickly at her mother, at her father, and then again at the new baby.

Draco gazed at the image of the three of them gathered on the little hospital gurney with an inscrutable expression on his face.

When his son was offered to him, he moved slowly and carefully. It had been five years since Caris had been born and he'd forgotten how tiny and fragile a newborn was. He gingerly accepted the small bundle like it was a precious collection of glassware on loan to him. Hermione snuggled Caris closer to her, where the girl watched everything with big eyes.

Draco glanced up from the swaddled child in his arms to Hermione, who was still watching him with contentedness, stroking her daughter's curls identical to her own but for the color. She told him, "He'll have your hair too, it seems. That explains all that heartburn I had…"

.

.

"Don't you think Potter would be a better person to posit these questions to?" Draco queried, his face an unreadable mask. He was older now, in his mid-thirties; there were the hint of lines around his eyes and mouth, like he'd spent much of the last decade displaying a plethora of emotion and stress.

Teddy muttered something under his breath. His hair was a dark purple color today, his lanky, thin body hunched over in the leather seat in front of Draco's desk.

"Didn't catch that," Draco drawled.

"I _said_ , this is his fault to begin with," Teddy spat, crossing his arms and sulking. "I don't want to talk to him."

Draco leaned back in his chair and surveyed his cousin. They had never been particularly close; by the time Andromeda had regularly integrated herself into Draco's life, Teddy had already left for Hogwarts.

"Your grandmother, then?" he suggested.

"She doesn't _get_ it," Teddy insisted.

"What makes you think I'll be any more understanding?"

Teddy leaned closer, uncrossing his arms. " _You_ had both your parents ripped away for stupid reasons, too. Plus you don't _coddle_ me, or tell me I'll understand _someday_ , and you don't _bullshit_ me."

It had never ceased to amaze Draco how forward Teddy often could be, especially for a Hufflepuff. "Potter gave you the Stone, didn't he?"

Teddy stared, "You know about it?"

Draco nodded, "He lent it to me, too. So I could get… closure. That was years ago now." His expression was guarded. Teddy seemed like he might explode at any moment.

"He said he'd _saved_ it for me, so he could give me the _gift_ of knowing my parents someday."

This was as much as Potter had once told him, too. "He did."

"Why would I want to see _them_?" Teddy demanded, his voice rising. "They didn't even think it was _worth it_ to stay alive to be parents to me! They didn't _have_ to fight in that stupid _effing_ War! They went and _martyred_ themselves instead!"

"Ah, so you haven't used it yet and you're scared," Draco concluded.

Teddy shot him a look of utter loathing and made to storm out of the office.

"Sit down," Draco snapped.

"I don't need to be bullied by the likes of you…"

Pulling out his wand, Draco summoned a bottle of Ogden's Single Barrel from the cupboard. The firewhiskey landed with a thump in front of Teddy, who looked shocked. "Have a seat," he said again.

"I'm sixteen," Teddy reminded him, eyeing the firewhiskey.

Draco shrugged, magically conjuring a couple glasses and pouring them each some, "Don't tell your grandmother."

Teddy took the offered drink, watched Draco knock it back, then copied him. He made a guttural noise and pulled a face, the glass clinking as it made contact with the table, empty. His hair went red with the shock. "It burns a bit on the way down, this stuff."

"That's how you know it's good," Draco answered sagely. "Now, all those reasons you just listed off as reasons _not_ to meet your parents, are the same reasons you should absolutely do it."

Teddy looked shocked.

"I didn't know them. I had your father for Defense Against the Dark Arts in third year, but that was it, really…"

"My father was a _professor_?" Teddy demanded.

"A fair one, too," Draco confirmed, wondering how on earth that had never come up before. "Now, we both know Potter can be a bit oblivious to the human condition, so probably he thinks their death was _noble_ , or some other asinine thing..."

Nodding vigorously, Teddy agreed, "That _was_ something along the lines of what he said."

"Regardless, just do it. Use the Stone. Find a private place and ask them all those questions you've been burning to know. Yell, scream. Trust me."

Teddy regarded him a moment, then slowly nodded, "Okay."

"Good. Now, get out of here. The Belgian ambassador is due any minute."

With a half-smile, Teddy stood to leave but paused halfway out the door. "Thanks for not bullshitting me."

"I hope you get the answers you're looking for, kid…"

.

.

"You're _sure_ you have everything?" Hermione fussed.

"Mum, you've asked him at _least_ ten times in the last five minutes," Caris retorted. Her platinum curls were long, extending most of the way down her back. She was tall and there was a new, shining prefect badge on her chest this year.

"If he's forgotten anything at this point, there's not much for it," Draco agreed, glancing with amusement at his son.

"Alright you two, let's get you a compartment. I think I see Harry and Ginny…" Hermione trotted off to meet her friends and to secure a compartment, leaving Draco to deal with the trunks and their children.

Calex smiled; he was Draco's spitting image, with the exception of Hermione's brown eyes and her nose. "I wonder what House I'll be Sorted into?"

"Slytherin, _obviously_ , like me," Caris sneered, smacking her brother on the shoulder affectionately. "All Malfoys are."

"Your mother wasn't," Draco reminded her.

"Yeah, well, she married in, didn't she?" Caris responded quietly as Hermione returned.

"Maybe I'll be in Gryffindor, like Mum!" Calex shouted, grinning. "I'm going to ask the Hat!"

Hermione called, "The only thing you're going to be is _late_ , young man, if you don't hustle onto that train!"

Caris deposited her trunk in the appropriate place and hugged her parents goodbye before disappearing into one of the front compartments with the other prefects.

"Remember, Calex, you write to us right away to let us know that you're settled…"

 _You're fussing_ , Draco reminded her softly.

 _I can't help it. How is it that they're both of Hogwarts age? Wasn't he two only last year?_

Draco smirked and clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, "See you at Christmas."

They watched as the train pulled from the station. Hermione looked somewhat misty-eyed until Ginny approached. "Rubbish, isn't it?" the redhead posited. She looked much the same as she always did, though she wore her hair differently. "I've just sent Lily off for her first year, too…"

.

.

"I hate you!" Caris screamed, her ponytail of curls bouncing along her back and spilling across her shoulders. There were tears in her eyes, obscuring her vision, but not enough to hide the vehement hatred pouring from those brown orbs.

Hermione had gone utterly still. She suddenly looked older, the subtle lines of her face standing out, her whole body sagging with heartache.

"How _dare_ you?" Draco demanded of his daughter. "How _dare_ you talk to your mother that way?"

"You're just as bad as her!" Caris yelled, her usually pale face pink with emotion. "You _married_ her! We all could have been so much more! You _ruined_ an otherwise unsullied bloodline! You ruined what could have been _my_ pure pedigree!"

"What are you, a dog?" Draco snarled, resisting the urge to slap her across the face. "All this talk of pedigrees and bloodlines… I know you didn't get this from _me_. Who is poisoning your mind?"

" _Poison_ ," she spat the word back out at him. "The only poison here is the muddiness I've been tarnished with!"

At this, Hermione burst into tears and fled the room. Caris, it seemed, was ready to do the same. She summoned her bag and cast a last contemptuous look at her father before storming out the front door and slamming it behind her. A painting fell from the wall near the door and the inhabitants cursed as they were jolted…

.

.

A vein was throbbing in Draco's temple and his hand was clenched so hard around his quill, it had snapped and was digging into his skin.

"Dad? Please say something," Calex begged. The boy was older now, probably seventeen or eighteen.

Unsticking his jaw, Draco's voice seemed to come out in a whisper, "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know what to do!" Calex was frantic, "I'm not ready to be a father! I was just messing around!"

Draco closed his eyes, willing himself not to lose his temper. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you went around having sex without protection."

His son's face was red up to the roots of his hair. "I thought Lily _was_ …"

"That's not good enough!"

"What do I do?" Calex pleaded. Then, a dawning look of realization, "I have to marry her… don't I?"

Taking a deep breath, Draco fought a brief, internal battle within. Calex had crushed on Lily Potter for _years_ ; Draco had always hoped he'd grow out of it. No doubt they'd finally gotten more-than-cozy some evening together in the Gryffindor Common Room. Resigned, he responded, "That would probably be a good place to start…"

.

.

Hermione sighed deeply. She was no longer young by any stretch of the imagination, but her eyes were still bright and vivacious, even if they were surrounded subtle crow's feet. She tried hooking a necklace around her neck, but her fingers kept fumbling the clasp.

Draco came up behind her and took the jewelry from her hands, hooking it for her and then kissing the side of her neck. She was wearing a deep purple dress that betrayed her still-good figure. The mirror framed the two of them like a portrait.

 _What is it?_

She chewed her lip, turning to look at him. _This is very odd, isn't it? Going to Calex's wedding and knowing… she won't be there._

Throat tightening, Draco recalled the day Caris had stormed from home. She hadn't been back since, although she had met up with Calex twice, which meant she was still alive. She even seemed to be doing well for herself, according to their son...

"You have to have faith that she'll realize she was wrong someday."

"What if she doesn't?" Hermione queried softly. She wasn't exactly crying, but her eyes seemed to be welling up like she might start.

"She's alive. She's safe. You love her," Draco answered. "Take it from someone who knows: that's a pretty good life."

Blinking, Hermione titled her head. _I love you._

He smirked, kissing her deeply in reply…

.

.

Elbows on his knees, head in his hands, Draco sat slumped over in the armchair. He knew his word was coming to an end… everything was crashing into rubble at his feet.

Body parts ached all the time that never used to ache… he was beginning to forget things that had once been easy to grasp onto… and Hermione…

The Healer had said she was dying months ago, that she had less than a year to live, but it had all happened so fast and no amount of preparation in the world could have prepared him for it. Even if he'd had _years_ to become accustomed to the idea…

She mostly slept now. Draco had been relegated to making sure she was comfortable, being – frustratingly – of no greater use. Calex made daily visits, sometimes with Lily and their son. Somehow that made it worse, like they were all waiting for the inevitable to happen.

The front door banged open with an excess of force and Draco slowly lifted his head. It was unlike Calex to be so forceful, especially with Hermione in such a fragile state. But it wasn't his son…

She was a good deal older than the last time he'd seen her, but the ringlets of blonde remained the same, the wide, brown eyes, the same. It was like seeing a ghost.

Taking a deep breath, Caris expelled it in a great gust. "Hi, Dad."

Suddenly, it didn't matter that she'd left the way she had, or that she'd been absent from their family for more than half her life. Face remaining deadpanned, Draco answered, "I assume you're here to see your Mother?"

Caris nodded slowly. "How... how _is_ Mum?"

He jerked his head in the direction of the East Tower, "She's upstairs. Be quiet when you go, or you'll wake her. Healers say it won't be long now. She needs her rest…"

.

.

Closing the book with shaking fingers, Draco placed the little volume on the nightstand. Hermione sighed from where she lay in bed, then reached out a wrinkled hand toward him. He took it and gave it a small squeeze. The corners of her mouth lifted up at the gesture.

"Thank you for reading some," she said quietly. He had to strain to hear her.

"I always will," he promised.

Instead of pleasing her like his promises usually did, she looked sad. She'd grown very weak in the last few days; Draco had barely left his vigil. "We've had so many firsts together…" she murmured. Her hair, which was mostly gray by now, was fanned out on her pillow, "…so many lasts… together."

 _Don't do this_ , he requested.

Brown met silver, as they had so many hundreds of times. "I'm so incandescently happy… so truly grateful… to have spent it all with you."

 _Please. Don't do this._

She closed her eyes, and seemed to sag into the bed.

"I love you," he told her, squeezing her hand.

But she didn't squeeze back. She was gone…

.

.

A blinding light flashed before his eyes and Draco was deposited back into the hawthorn grove with a cruel suddenness. It felt like he'd been repeatedly punched in the gut. With a gasp, he realized he'd been knocked onto his hands and knees. It was supremely difficult to catch his breath, as his body was also being wracked by harsh sobs; he hadn't even realized he was crying, until he'd begun. Wiping his face hastily, he felt like he'd just lived through a lifetime, only to be told it was all a lie.

The dragon, in all its magnificence, did not seem sympathetic in the slightest. _So you see? You may have some good memories ahead of you, but they are always tempered with pain. Your future happiness is subjective. It is better to avoid mortality completely._

Unable to rid himself of what he'd just witnessed, Draco worked hard to stand on his feet. Slowly pulling himself back together, he was at least able to cease sobbing, although his hands were shaking just as they had when he'd been an old man, like he had a palsy.

He had married Hermione, produced children with her, and then had to watch her leave her mortal body while he stayed behind. Yes, there was happiness… but also _horrible_ grief, worse than any he'd been able to contemplate before.

"She could come with me," he finally croaked out, lifting his tear-stained face to meet the dragon's enormous golden eye. "Hermione could come with me. To the stars."

 _It was not foretold._

"But why not?" he demanded. "We're cut from the same celestial cloth. The same noble minerals that graced earth with their presence, runs through _both_ our blood. Why me and not her?"

 _It was not foretold_ , the dragon merely repeated.

Draco stared at the beast. The red-orange scales glistened in the moonlight and he could feel the creature's heat from where he stood, several yards away. He was being given the chance to escape a future containing pain, despair, sadness…

 _I am so incandescently happy… so truly grateful… to have spent it all with you._

Hermione's final words cut him like a knife. He knew he couldn't go. "My future is with her. If she stays, so do I."

 _That is your final resolve?_

Lifting his chin, Draco confirmed, "It is."

For a moment, the dragon observed him with inscrutable golden eyes. Finally, with a wild snort that filled much of the clearing with smoke, it unfurled its enormous wings and beat them down to get lift. The force of the consequent currents knocked Draco onto his backside. The trees barely escaped unscathed as the creature took off, although a plethora of loose brambles fell to the forest floor as though a windstorm had passed through.

It was going… going…

The dragon was gone, back to the heavens.

Draco was alone.

For the better part of an hour, Draco obsessed over everything he'd seen in the visions. Crookshanks had died mere days before their wedding; Draco had worried that Hermione might leave him at the altar, and Andromeda had comforted him; he had a daughter and a son, and he'd felt both of them being born through his connection with Hermione; Teddy had come to him for advice before using the Resurrection Stone; his daughter had been a Slytherin prefect and his son had been a Gryffindor; she also had somehow inherited the idea that purebloods were superior and had cut ties with their family; his son had accidentally impregnated his future wife when they were teenagers; Hermione became very ill at the end of her life and it was this that had caused their daughter to return; he and Hermione had loved one another for their entire lives, up until her death at an advanced age.

This last fact was the one that mostly reduced him into a gormless puddle. He had never in his wildest dreams, expected to find himself bound to a person that loved him so completely. Now that he was destined to remain, he would have to spend the rest of his life worshipping her… and he only had another fifty or so years to do it, if the future he'd been shown was anything to go by.

Draco knew the future was malleable. Perhaps it had already been altered by his being made aware of it, therefore it was prudent to take everything he'd seen with a grain of salt. But there was one thing his future self had confirmed when speaking with the hostile, teenaged Teddy Lupin… he _had_ used the Resurrection Stone.

Reaching into his pocket, Draco's fingers closed around the piece of obsidian still safely tucked there and pulled it out. After everything he'd just experienced, speaking to his deceased parents no longer seemed such a daunting thing.

 _No time like the present,_ he resolved grimly, turning the stone three times in his hand.


	63. Exordium

Author's Note: A rousing show of gratitude for all those who left a review... Frogster, Chester99, Sassystarbuck09, jperks, Sam Wallflower, I was BOTWP, Musicangel913, K. E. Degz, siewchee12345, OptimusPrimegirl213, Frolic inthe Fiendfyre, Dolphin02, the Guest reviewer, mesa24, annalyciareads, LunasMom, and 4fanci!

Here it is, loves. The very last chapter...

.

.

The black stone with its jagged central crack lay flat in Draco's palm, seeming for all the world a benign object. He closed his eyes for a moment, his head and his heart still sore from his experience with the dragon-constellation.

He knew the Stone had worked before he'd even opened his eyes again. The brambles that had been freed from the surrounding hawthorns by the dragon's great wingbeats, crackled ominously only a few paces ahead of him like they were being trod by frail feet. He suddenly didn't feel so brave as he had a moment ago.

The opening of his eyes revealed the fulfillment of both his greatest wish and his greatest fear. Before him stood his parents… _almost_ as they had been in life.

Lucius stood tall, nearly the same height as Draco himself, with his trademark platinum hair pulled back with a black, satin ribbon. His eyes were austere as they'd always been – but they seemed to hold a new emotion they'd certainly never displayed in life. Draco couldn't place it, as it was partially concealed by the emotional mask his father had always worn.

Thin and willowy, Narcissa exhibited the same graceful posture and easy elegance she'd always been known for prior to the Dark Lord's second rise. Her hair was almost as long as her husband's, and almost as blonde. Her blue eyes were clear as they gazed at her son hungrily, sparkling in an unfamiliar manner.

They seemed to be neither spectre nor flesh, halfway between insubstantial and solid. A moment's silence ensconced the three of them, until Narcissa reached out a pale hand toward her son and murmured lovingly, "Draco…"

He went to her then, as he had as a child, but instead of coming to rest in her embrace, he passed through her as though she were a ghost.

 _So this was what Potter meant_ , Draco realized with grim understanding. _It is a shadow that returns._

Straightening, he seemed to remember himself then: he was a grown man of twenty-two and no longer a child… and she was dead. They _both_ were. He stared at the sight of them for a moment longer, drinking them in. In a voice that betrayed none of the emotional wavering he felt in his chest, he thanked them, "I appreciate you coming to speak with me."

"Of course," Narcissa answered fondly.

The longer Draco looked, the more he could tell these were spirits instead of actual bodies. It was little things that gave them away: Narcissa's prominent collarbones usually rose and caved with each breath but she remained eerily still, and when a slight breeze swum past and bristled Draco's hair, it did not ruffle his father's.

Lucius remained silent, his calculating eyes focused completely on his son.

"Is it better? Death?" He cringed at the way his voice sounded small when he asked.

"Certainly less painful than life," Lucius responded bluntly, speaking for the first time.

Pressing his eyes shut, Draco tried to collect this thoughts. He had prepared questions, but they seemed just beyond his reach now. "My life has become a collection of horrors, with both of your fates… and with Astoria's. They were my fault."

"Astoria is at peace," Narcissa assured him. "She doesn't blame you in the slightest."

"She was forced to surrender her bodily virtue against her own actions," Draco grimaced. "Despite that it wasn't her own will, Helena Greengrass has given me a substantial sum in what she deems a _retribution_ … to _atone_. The idea of spending a single knut makes me want to be ill."

"A donation to something worthy, then," Lucius suggested mildly. It was odd, hearing him speak so flippantly about money; he'd always been very careful with where he'd bestowed it while living. The Malfoys had never been stingy by any stretch of the imagination, but any donations made were given with a means to achieve something.

"Perhaps something Astoria herself would have approved," Narcissa agreed.

Draco nodded, then found himself explaining candidly, "It was Nott. Theo used the Imperius to compel Perseus Lestrange to murder you, Mother. Then he Imperiused Lestrange and his son to kill Astoria. Deimos, he… he raped her before Perseus finished her off."

Narcissa's eyes were wide as they took in her son's pain, etched onto his face. She seemed unsure what to say. Lucius watched him carefully, his expression like a hawk deciding if it wanted to eat something that was already dying.

Draco found he couldn't stop, "Lestrange was arrested, but Deimos went on the run. He murdered Hermione's parents under the Imperius – again by Theo's command – but then arranged for Dementors to steal her soul so he could rape her in front of me. To prove some kind of point…"

"Hermione _Granger_?" Lucius queried, intrigued.

They'd arrived at one of the subjects Draco desperately wanted to discuss with them, though the words still stuck in his throat a little. "The same. Theo tried to dispose of her to get at me. He… wanted to marry me. That was why he killed so many people. Why he killed _you_." In little more than a whisper, he clenched a fist and added, "I can still feel the _stain_ of his decisions on me. Some days, it's overwhelming."

"You are not to blame for your Mother's death, nor mine," Lucius assured his son, "as they did not occur by your hand. Theodore Nott will have his comeuppance."

There was a long silence that stretched between them following this declaration. Draco continued to struggle with his next words, trying to best determine how to tell his parents he planned on discontinuing the Malfoy practice of marrying only purebloods.

No matter how many times he had tried to word it in his head, he found himself imagining the theoretical reactions of his parents' living counterparts when he told them. His Father would rage and threaten to cut him off financially, while his Mother might sob and attempt to guilt trip him out of it. At least... that's what they did in his worst imaginings of how things might transpire. He quickly reminded himself that it wouldn't matter if they hated him, because they were dead and he was keeping Hermione regardless.

Narcissa's eyes widened as if she were privy to his struggles. "The Granger girl… you love her, don't you?"

Well, he couldn't ask for a better opening than that. "Yes."

Lucius's eyebrows raised higher than Draco had ever seen them go, and he watched as his parents shared a look. He knew the spectre really was Narcissa when her answer was kind but somewhat guarded, saturated with the kind of perceptiveness only a mother can have for her child's emotions. "I don't really understand it… but I can see in your eyes that you would be miserable without this woman. She brings a light into your life that you flourish in."

"You're not angry? Disappointed?"

"Oh my love," she lilted sadly, looking like the thing she wished most to do was to pull him into a tight embrace. "All I have ever _truly_ desired is your happiness."

Turning to his Father with some trepidation, Draco tested, "And you?"

Lucius's jaw visibly tightened and he remained silent.

"Your Father and I always tried to do what we thought was best for you, Draco," Narcissa told him earnestly, turning the attention away from her husband. "I can see you consider some of our methods to be… unsavory, now."

Latching onto this, because it was another thing he really wanted to discuss, Draco pressed, "Where did the blood superiority belief arise from exactly?"

"Of some traditions, there is no way to trace their inception."

"But what about all the things you pounded into my brain? The blood supremacy… the Dark Lord's agenda… the arranged marriage…?"

His Father's grim mouth twitched and he seemed to answer for them both when he responded, "It is remarkable how little such things matter, in death. I'm proud of you, Draco, as I was in life. My death and your choices have not altered that fact."

"I wish you could understand about Hermione," he fretted. "My life was full of so much darkness, so many horrors. She has singlehandedly made everything so much more bearable. She carries light with her wherever she goes; I won't ever be able to give that up. I'm too selfish."

Though Lucius's response was vague, it made Draco soar with reassurance, "Your true mate is someone that marks a before and after in your life." He gazed fondly at Narcissa, and though the look was slight, she seemed pleased. "It is not someone that comes into your life peacefully: they make you question things and change your reality."

"As she has done," Draco reiterated.

"Then," Lucius deemed, "so it will be."

Narcissa smiled at her husband, then at her son. Draco recognized what amounted to his Father's blessing and though it might have seemed cold to an outsider, he cherished it. "I have done as you bade me in our last worldly interview. The prophecy is complete."

Lucius inclined his head, surveying his son with interest. "You've done well then. I knew you would."

It all came spilling out, uninhibited – the way Theo's role in the devastation of the Malfoy line had.

"The line of Malfoy shall guard in secret for fifteen generations," Draco paraphrased, "a divination ensuring their own continuation and amaranthine eminence by virtue of one of their own. It meant that I had an opportunity to live forever amongst the stars… to continue on in everlasting nobility, sustained by Deep Magic."

"Yet here you stand," Lucius remarked.

Nodding, Draco added, "My Patronus summoned the dragon. ' _Heretofore the dragon sleeps_ …' It was a manifestation of my soul, summoning what it recognized to be its celestial match." Draco recalled Theo's radical experimentations with a sneer. "There is stardust in my blood from a star within the dragon constellation. Did you know? When you named me?"

Narcissa shook her head, "Your name came to us both separately, seemingly at once. It was… inexplicable."

So, his parents had both come to the simultaneous decision on his name before they knew about his connection with the stars… it was just as unlikely as his painting, now displayed at Terrazza Mosaico, done years before his impending encounter with the sky-dragon.

 _Perhaps there's a touch of Seer in my blood, after all._ But in the back of his mind, he recalled: _Memory Alone Binds Us_.

Chewing on that thought for a moment, Draco snapped back to the present. There would be plenty of time for reflection later, and he wasn't sure how much longer he had with his parents. The stars were disappearing and the hint of an imminent sunrise was tingeing the sky.

"' _An upheaval of what once was sacred_ …'" he continued, inferring, "that was, I _think_ , the dissolution of the Sacred Twenty-Eight into the Sacred Fifteen. ' _A reckoning of the connection betwixt two souls_ ,' both victims of hate and prejudice…"

"Perhaps," Narcissa suggested, interrupting his thought, "the Sacred Twenty-Eight was less important than you assume." At her son's questioning look, she explained, "True friendship forms its own bonds within the soul; this was reckoned with when you were betrayed by Theodore Nott."

Sucking in a breath, Draco could feel the validity of her words. Perhaps she was correct.

"The otter?" Lucius pressed. He seemed impassive, but the prompt indicated he was seriously invested in revealing the pieces of the prophecy he'd painstakingly combed over for many years of his life.

"It's Hermione's Patronus," Draco explained. "When Deimos sent the Dementors to Kiss her she fought them off with it, thus keeping her soul – and mine – stainless. If she'd been Kissed, I would have killed Lestrange when I found out it was him that had orchestrated them."

"Your soul is something within you that is thousands and thousands of years old," Narcissa reminded him. "You would do well to protect it. Do not ever let it be destroyed."

"You told me that once," Draco recalled, "I didn't understand it then. I do now. My soul is tied to Hermione's; she has stardust in her blood, too. We're the… ' _star-crossed_ ' part."

Lucius considered him in a new way, his eyes narrowing slightly, "Do you resent your upbringing?"

"I'm not sure," Draco shrugged truthfully. "Parts of it, I suppose. I almost lost the most important person in my life because of my blood prejudice. It was a very _real_ struggle to overcome, but doing so has made us stronger."

It was with great care that Lucius spoke his next words: "Even the mightiest tree in the forest requires both rain and sunlight to become truly great. Without both, it will not suffice."

Draco bowed his head a moment to this wisdom. He considered it and decided it was less barbed than many of the other things his Father could have said. "Thank you."

The sun began to peek over the horizon now, tendrils of light spurring upward into the lightening skyscape. It was a resplendent beginning to a new day, but it rendered the frail outlines of the vague bodies even less solid. Draco could feel that his time with his parents was rapidly coming to a close.

"Will you stay with me? Just for a bit longer?"

"We're always with you. Even if you can't see us," Narcissa answered. Her fingers were insubstantial and he couldn't feel them, but he shivered nonetheless as she ran them down his cheek. "My handsome son…"

.

.

Hermione awoke gently before she deigned to open her eyes, basking instead in the residual warmth of the bed. An instinctual reaction, she snuggled up against the form she assumed was Draco beside her. Unusually, the warm body next to her seemed to be resting on the outside of the sheets...

Peeking through her eyelids, she noted it was _not_ Draco in bed with her, as she'd assumed, but a collection of fur that turned out to be both Aries and Crookshanks. The greyhound lifted his head as she stirred, blinking at her with liquidy black eyes. Crookshanks yawned luxuriously and stretched, one paw regally branching over the greyhound's back in a lazy display of dominance.

 _Odd_ , Hermione thought, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her face. The sun was fully risen by now and seemed to be determined to display its full glory.

She sent out searching fingers of her essence to find Draco, but came up with nothing in the immediate vicinity.

Odder still.

He hadn't mentioned he was going anywhere, especially so early. Hermione resisted the urge to panic, recognizing that it would be silly to do so. Still, for someone who was so adamantly Slytherin, Draco _did_ seem to have the occasional Gryffindor-ish tendency of rushing headfirst into something reckless…

 _Draco?_

Finally, there he was, his presence flying outward with a new touch of… something. Something oddly light and bordering carefree in a way that she couldn't remember his essence ever being before. She bristled, annoyed that he could feel that way when she'd been worrying about him.

 _Where have you been?_ she demanded, trying not to sound too miffed.

He didn't respond in words but in a feeling, like he was too full of things to form a coherent sentence. A moment later, she glanced out the window and saw him approaching the house from the forest, his pale hair shining in the morning sunlight.

She went as composedly as she could toward the front door and threw it open. All seven dogs plus Crookshanks spilled out of the opening and barreled forward. Some of the dogs ran immediately to their master, while Crookshanks sauntered over to the nearest tree and began sharpening his claws.

"You didn't even leave a note!" Hermione complained, feeling defensive about her worrying.

Without even a word, Draco went to her and lifted her up, kissing her through a rather uncharacteristic grin. She couldn't help melting into him.

 _Where were you?_

He set her down, parting their lips with some regret. _It's quite a tale. I hope you have the time. Perhaps tea? I'm starving, too._

Hermione stared incredulously as he smirked and raced toward the house, yelling for the dogs to follow. Tongues lolling, barks booming, and hair flying, all seven faithfully did. Crookshanks stared up at his mistress with yellow eyes and meowed, as if to question the pack's collective sanity.

Once they were settled comfortably into the solarium with a full tea tray, Draco began his tale, beginning with his final visit to Lucius the previous fall when his father had told him of the prophecy.

"You kept all this from me, all this time?" Hermione queried, hurt. "We could have tried to solve it together… not that I hold _too_ much stock in divination. It's a highly faulty art, often tainted with artifice."

"I told you, it was only ever known by Malfoys – that was made perfectly clear to me. You've got to let me continue before you draw any conclusions."

Hermione fell silent again, allowing him to continue on. She asked him to repeat the prophecy three times when they came to the part of its discovery. Draco could hear her mind buzzing over it, trying to put it together before he could inform her of its solution.

When he came to the bit of the tale where Theo admitted his adoration for Draco, hence the reason he'd committed all the murders – including of Hermione's own parents – she bristled, but didn't seem shocked like he'd expected her to be. "Well, I thought perhaps that might be it," she revealed, matter-of-factly sipping her tea while Crookshanks curled himself into a round, ginger wheel on her lap. "It seemed one of the logical answers, considering the vehemence with which he perpetuated his hatred toward anyone that got close to you. That, and your reluctance to talk about it."

Draco's cup remained frozen halfway to his lips as he stared at her, floored. She was stroking under Crookshanks' chin and the cat was clearly enjoying the attention as he basked in the sunspot that shone in through the glass walls of the solarium.

"Are you going to stare at me, or are you going to go on?" Hermione prompted saucily.

"Minx," he muttered fondly under his breath. Nevertheless, he continued, "My Mother believed Theo's betrayal was the reckoning of two souls…"

"…' _Victims of hate and prejudice_ ,'" she murmured, finishing that particular phrase for him. "Yes, that makes sense. _You_ were the victim of hate, because of the actions of your family during the War. _Theo_ was the victim of prejudice because he was raised to have it and couldn't see past it. He couldn't stand to see you with someone he thought was inferior to himself."

Draco hadn't considered this angle before. He'd always written this particular part of the prophecy off as the dissolving of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, until his Mother had changed his mind. It suddenly made more sense this way, considering what the dragon-constellation had said about stars not caring for the 'so-called nobility' of humans.

"But what do you mean your Mother believed it was Nott? She died _years_ before you discovered his guilt…"

"I'm getting there, I promise," he assured her.

When he told her about the dragon appearing in the grove following his first successful Patronus-casting, Hermione gasped. "It's the Draco constellation! That's the answer! It's circumpolar, always visible in the northern hemisphere, and never setting below the horizon!"

"You _swot_ , you ruin _every_ story…"

"Sorry," she apologized, used to this criticism from Harry and Ron. "Go on."

He told her about how the dragon-constellation came before him to reveal the truths of his existence through the use of memory. "Memories of the past, of the future… to allow me the choice to accompany it back to a state of complete serenity."

Hermione grew quiet for a moment and stared at her lap, twisting her fingers nervously. "You're still _here_ , though…"

"I am," he agreed, setting his empty cup down on the tray. Legend, who was sprawled ungracefully at his feet, lifted his head at the _tink-_ ing sound.

"These visions of the future," she prompted nervously. "Did any of them include me?"

Draco chuckled, unable to stop himself. She glanced up at him, her dark eyes full of questions. Under the table, Draco took her hands in his to stop her from wringing them. "You and I have _decades_ together, Hermione… if you'll allow it to be so, of course."

Blushing deeply, Hermione held his intense gaze as long as she dared before her face dropped to her lap again, a smile pulling at her lips. "I'd… I'd like that."

"After all, we _are_ star-crossed," he joked, a smirk pulling the corner of his mouth upward in a half-mirror of hers.

"It's funny," she breathed, "Andromeda was the first one to mention that particular term to me, the night of Harry and Ginny's wedding. I went home and looked it up. It's old-world speak for 'soul mates.'"

She seemed to blush even deeper at this admission, a juxtaposition of being both pleased and embarrassed by it. Her logical brain dismissed the idea that something so frivolous was possible, while her heart sang that it was the honest truth.

"That makes sense," Draco murmured, drawing small circles on her hand with his thumb. After a pause, he pressed, "Potter told me once that it was the culmination of many little things that lead up to the Dark Lord's fall. That there were so many little pieces – small as they were – that if they hadn't happened, He would probably still be in power."

"Yes," Hermione nodded quietly.

"Well, it's like that with us, too, isn't it? I mean, there were _so many_ little things that had to happen _just so_ , to lead us to one another."

"Draco," Hermione sniffed, visibly moved, "I _do_ believe you're being romantic…"

"It has been known to happen," he teased, leaning across the table for a swift kiss. "Don't get used to it."

She giggled, then sighed contentedly. They sat for a few moments longer in a glow of happy silence before Draco suggested they ditch the tea things and he finish his story elsewhere.

They ended up in the garden, which was still overgrown from decades of neglect. At their approach, a few gnomes popped their heads up to see what was going on, but disappeared quickly back into their holes once the dogs caught sight of them and began to sniff around in earnest.

Draco picked up his tale where he'd left off, until he came to a snag in his confessional. He'd made an agreement with Potter not to inform Hermione about the Resurrection Stone. Still, Draco was not a Slytherin for nothing. After all, Harry had not stipulated that he couldn't hint, and Hermione was a master at shrewd guessing.

It took her only a few minutes to understand what he was getting at. Narrowing her eyes from her seat on the stone bench beside him, she commented suspiciously, "Harry once spoke to his parents like that, too."

Pleased that it had proven so easy to make her understand, Draco confirmed, "He did."

"Am I to understand you might have used… _similar_ methods?"

"I adore that brain of yours."

"Am I to _also_ understand that Harry implored you to make a promise that you _wouldn't tell me_ about certain things?"

He smirked.

She sat back, looking annoyed at her friend. "He's such an idiot sometimes."

It didn't take long for Draco to complete his story. Once finished, he suggested, "You should use it, Hermione. You should have the chance to speak to your parents, too… if you want."

"Oh, _no_ ," she shuddered. "My parents… I love them very much, don't get me wrong. We had such a wonderful relationship, even despite that I Obliviated them during the War. I am unencumbered by lack of closure. I'm afraid if I _tried_ to see them again, that it would be worse. It's _so_ painful as it is. Thank you, but… no. It's better this way, for my own mental health."

Draco nodded his acquiescence and allowed her a moment to recover from the agitating suggestion. Finally, once it seemed like she had come to terms with it again, he told her earnestly, "I know what's important to me now."

"Oh?"

"In a little over a year, I will be released from the hiatus I have on courting. I know I want _you_. I knew it without the prophecy. I knew it before I spoke with my parents. I knew it a long time ago, even if I tried to pretend I didn't. Maybe I knew it when you showed up in my office after my Father's sentence and I invited you to Terrazza Mosaico, I don't know. It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment I knew, but it's for sure. I like what we are now… but I want more, someday. Once I'm not bound by custom, I want to marry you."

Her breath hitched a little, but her voice remained even when she pointed out, "I'm not a pureblood. We aren't bound by those customs."

"I know. But some things are ingrained so deeply in me that I can't let them go. Parts of my upbringing are like that, _you_ are like that: somehow I have to make those two things work together. Even if you _were_ pureblood, I don't think I'd want us to draw up a Sanctus Pur agreement. It's all about property and you are _so_ much more than that to me." He paused, pretending not to notice that she'd gone a bit misty-eyed. "There's another type of binding…"

"Pura Consors," she supplied. At his incredulous look that she would know about such a thing, she explained, "I read about it in one of the books I took from the Manor."

"Of course you did," he laughed. Hermione recalled a time when she thought he _couldn't_ laugh; she was glad to be wrong. "I don't think one of those has been cast in over a hundred years, but I don't care. It's what I want." He glanced at her hastily and took her hand again, "If you're willing to wait, of course. If you're willing to have me."

Leaning forward to peck him on the lips, she answered, "You're worth the wait."

Humming with elation, Draco's eyes caught the trail of beauty marks that always so easily captured his attention. They began in a cluster of four around her collarbone, curving gently upward, then gracefully bending against the curve of her breast. He traced the line with his finger, doing so from memory where it disappeared below her shirt. When he reached the tail, he stopped abruptly as realization hit him. "Here is proof that you're mine forever."

"What are you on about now?" Hermione scoffed playfully, enjoying the feel of his fingers brushing her skin.

"You have a constellation," he showed her, tracing the line once more, "here."

She glanced down at it, her head titled with curiosity. Seeing him trace it once more, his finger stopping for a split second where each of the fifteen freckles trailed, she gasped, her eyes growing wide, "You're _right_. I have the constellation Draco. How on _earth_ have I never noticed?"

"Star-crossed indeed," he remarked. He grinned at her in smug triumph as she gazed at him in complete incredulity.

It was the perfect opportunity to kiss her.

.

.

Author's Note: Well... it's over. I'm a bit shocked I managed it in less than 4 months, to be honest.

To everyone who read this story, thank you for taking the time to do so. For those who reviewed, thank you for taking the additional time to leave me your thoughts! Here is the part where I shamelessly suggest that if you enjoyed this fic, you should check out my other (Dramione) work in progress, _The Eagle's Nest_. Keep in touch!

As always, your opinions, suggestions, and love are so, _so_ appreciated...

Cheers!

Edie


End file.
